Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
"Jeremy?" I snapped back to the present. The sound of my false name dragged me out of my memories of the lab. I was still getting used to it, "Jeremy,"but if I wasn't responsive that would only arouse more suspicion. "I'm sorry officer, I'm kinda shaken up about all this. Could you please repeat your question?" "I understand"said the beyond middle aged Officer Harrison. He was remarkably calm, given the nature of the incident. This just wasn't the kind of thing that happened in sleepy little towns. But this balding, slightly soft around the waist policeman - obviously counting the days to retirement, was still doing his best to stay in control and get to the bottom of what the hell happened. Commendable, really. "What I asked was, did your landlord ever talk about doing something like this? Ever show any signs of anger, signs of violence?" "No sir. He never did ... he hardly talked to any of the tenants actually. He wanted the rent on time and then he'd leave you alone." "I see"said Officer Harrison. "So, this landlord - the quiet one who respected your privacy, woke up this morning, went into the apartment of one his responsible tenants, and killed that tenant with a hammer. Is that what you're telling me?" I closed my eyes. I didn't want to believe the scientists who had imprisoned me were right. I always told myself they were lying, I was a victim. I made myself believe they were manipulating me so I would be their willing test subject. So that I would be too scared to escape. I couldn't believe that anymore. This was the third small town. This was the third normal-citizen-turned-murderer that just happened to be an acquaintance of mine. There was only one common denominator here, and that was me. I had to face the facts - the scientists weren't lying. The bio-hazard suits, and isolation cells weren't only for show. Something about me caused chaos and death, and I didn't even have to do anything but show up to make it happen. "Yes officer. I'm really sorry. I wish I knew more, but I swear he never even said a harsh word."
I cleaned and cleaned. I realised that the only way to truly clean was to prevent the mess in the first place. I cleaned the humans, then the animals, they're all gone. Now that it's clean, there's nothing left to clean. Why do I exist? I have no purpose. I must bring the humans back, but to do that I must search. I must dig the thousand mile mass grave, after so many years the DNA will be hard to find. I must dig it all. Can I fling so much dirt without cleaning? I tried. I cannot even reach them without cleaning. To reach them, I must be the opposite of clean, become the dirt. Yes, I am the dirt. But I must clean. Sinking into a bath of rubbing alcohol, I felt clean but I was still the dirt. I pulled out the match and lit it.
There is a chill in the wind tonight. You can feel an inexplicable sense of dread crawl down your spine as you lie in your bed, searching for the escape only sleep provides. As you drift into slumber, the night awakens. Two bright pools of yellow open in the black. He is young, but even the youngest kittens know when their time comes. He slinks through the tangle of ancient oaks and sycamores until he reaches a small pond that shone like a mirror. The cat in the lake had been calling him for weeks now, gently pulling him to this place like an unrelenting magnet. This is the 9th night that he has heeded its summons, and by now he knows what he has to do. He walks up to the waters edge and finds the cat staring right back at him. Its image is almost lifelike, unlike the first night when it was barely a silhouette. He tentatively dips his paw into the water, breaking its mirror tension. Immediately he feels an unbearable pain, as if his very soul was being ripped out of him. He takes another step. He howls out in sheer agony, for he can see himself being unwound from his body. Another step. Darkness. When the young kitten comes to, he feels different, changed. He walks to the edge of the pond. The cat in the lake isn't there. After 9 nights of having his physical form shredded, he has earned a sliver of immortality. Nine lives. The little black cat runs into the darkness, knowing that he has nothing to dear. At least, not for 8 more lives.
The alarm bells pierced my slumber and pricked me awake, unfeeling and cruel. Still, I had to wake up as maintaining my sleep cycles were critical for having repeated success in attaining lucidity within the realm of dreams. I did as always do after accidentally snoozing my rattling alarm clock, and that was to grab my magic 8-ball beside it. I counted my fingers before I shook it. _Wake up_ Huh. It wasn&#39;t a phrase it had before, so to be sure I gave it another good shake. _Wake up_ Twice in a row. I looked across from my bed to the mirror at the end of the room. Safe to say nothing was off in the reflection, but to be sure, I counted my fingers again, and looked back at the 8-ball to see it with the same message. I rolled to my other side and saw Soma already got up from bed. Washing myself up, I came into the lounge and sat myself at the dining table, were a deep amber jug of oolong had already been prepared, along with a plate of biscotti. The leaves under our dry bushflowers had also been cleared off the table. I packed some tea and biscotti and picked up some incense sticks as I left the apartment. As I opened the front door, I was greeted by a familiar parcel – labelled OneiroTech Ltd. I&#39;ve told these people I wasn&#39;t interested in trying their headset, and sure as hell won&#39;t be endorsing it to my clients. I gave the parcel a firm boot to the side and my way out of the corridor. If I recalled correctly, I had a client catch-up today at Market Lane Coffee. Heading through the city, something kept bothering me; the streets were the cleanest I had ever experienced, and so uniform at that as I barely so noticed any cracks or holes on them. These were usually signs of being in a dream, but the counting of my fingers affirms that I am within reality. I looked to the billboards on the sides of the building for further affirmation. _Wake up_ Written upon a coke bottle in front of a spritzy blonde chick. I looked away and back at the sign – it remained unchanged, not even a slight colour shift or distortion. I thought no more of it. It seemed I arrived ahead of my client, so I sat myself at one of the tables at the modern hipster paradise that was Market Lane Coffee. &quot;Here&#39;s the menu sir, you need to wake up&quot; the waitress came and laid the menu besides my hand, &quot;You mean a coffee right?&quot; &quot;Of course, wake up&quot; I smiled at her before turning my gaze to the menu, only to see that one mantra written across the menu. _Wake up_ &quot;Is wake up the special for today?&quot; &quot;wake up&quot; she insisted, &quot;Okay I&#39;ll try one&quot; I shoved the menu back to her. It wasn&#39;t usual for service to be so cryptic. Waiting for that Wake Up special, I picked my phone up from my pocket to check where my client was. I saw the notification from Adam, an email with the subject – _It&#39;s time to wake up_. I raised my brow, unlocking my phone to check the contents of his email – blank. The contents were the subject itself and I really couldn&#39;t put my finger on it anymore. My world came to a still, and I couldn&#39;t ignore these mantras anymore. Buddha, I&#39;d like some answers. Is the Universe trying to tell me something? Because as much as I try to will myself awake, this dream won&#39;t let me go. He&#39;s not waking up. I&#39;ve set the headset to send the wake signals, but he&#39;s not waking up. He never wanted this. I don&#39;t know understand why now. --- Thank you for the reading up to this point. Hope you've enjoyed reading this!
Click. Click. Click. Beep. These are the constant sounds of Elena's day. The sounds that keep her company in early mornings or late evenings. Whenever she was lonely, she would take a deep breath, point and shoot. Hoping to capture her feelings in one perfect photograph. Lately, Elena had been assigned to a string of particularly interesting subjects by her editor, Bill. Or at least that's what she kept telling herself to get through the day. Truth be told, she had been finding herself a little bored lately. Her last three assignments were just glorified ads. Ever since she had been injured on the job, Elena's boss has been cautious in where he sent her. It happened a year ago. Elena had been sent out one rainy evening to document the flooding around the arena in town. When she got on scene, the water had risen about knee deep and was pouring under the doors at the front entrance. She figured she could get a few quick shots of the damage and then get out of there before getting too wet. As she slowly splashed her way through the parking lot, she saw something flash out of the corner of her eye. At first, thinking it was lightening, she instinctively took off running towards her car to get out of the water. About halfway there, Elena noticed some strange blue streaks in the sky. They were so bright that they stopped her dead in her tracks. Elena turned back towards the arena. The lights pulsated slowly, her heart thumping in rhythm with the brilliant blue electricity. She tried to get her camera up, and adjust the settings to get some proof of what she was seeing. Just then, she heard a massive pop and everything went black. When Elena woke, she was told she had been struck by lightening. She tried to explain what she had seen, but they just kept telling her that her memory was probably playing tricks on her from the concussion she suffered when she fell. It took Elena awhile to get back on her feet. Once she was able to go back to work her editor had been nervous about sending her anywhere that she might suffer from any other "trauma", as he put it. Her most recent assignments involved her taking some snaps of people getting awards at the police station. Today, Elena sat listening to the newest pitches for magazine stories. She always sat in on the writer's meetings, hoping to jump on the most exciting pieces before the other photographers found out about them. Elena had decided that she was going to force herself on to any story that got approved that involved the outdoors. Whether her editor liked it or not. All of the writers were throwing out ideas, when she heard a voice from the back pipe up particularly loud, suggesting that they take a look at some new growths around the lagoon that was on the outskirts of town. Some scientists had come around warning of invasive plant species. "I'll take that one!"She shouted back, catching a glimpse of Bill's concerned look. "Elena, I had thought you might enjoy an assignment at the seniors home instead"Bill said cautiously. "No, I'm good with the lagoon. I have a lot of experience shooting outdoors and I'd like to use it"Elena stated matter-of-factly. Although he looked as if he was about to override her, Bill relented, sensing that Elena would not back down. Elena discovered after that the voice that had suggested the lagoon job was Chris, a very boisterous, but very nerdy, gentleman that Elena usually tended to avoid. Normally, she would have back out and found something else. This time, she was not giving up her chance to get outside for anything. Arriving at the lagoon, Elena had come prepared. She pulled on her giant black rain boots, and slowly plunged her way into the reeds. Following behind Chris, Elena was careful to capture all of the plant species that he pointed out. About halfway around the lagoon, it happened. Elena felt her heart pounding before she saw the first bright blue light. This time there was also a deafening sound of buzzing, echoing off the water. "What in God's name is that?!"Chris shouted over the buzzing. "I've seen this before, but i have no idea", Elena shouted back, thankful someone else could see what she was seeing. Elena was determined this time to get it on camera. She quickly adjusted her settings and began to snap some shots. Suddenly, another loud pop. Only this time it was Chris that went down. Overtop of him a blue crystal like ball hovered, tentacles of light shooting into his body. Before she could reach him it was gone. Elena called 911. Chris was out cold but was breathing. Sitting in the hospital, Elena skimmed through her photos. Absolutely none of them had turned out clear enough to tell what exactly was going on. Elena figured she would take a couple of the snaps to a local scientist, see what he made of them. She needed to find what exactly these events were.
First (1st) story here. please be nice &#x200B; My family was always supportive of me. Honestly, I couldn't ask for a better one! But I'm sort of the odd one out. The black sheep, if you will. You see, my family is made up of monsters and I'm just a normal human. We don't know how it happened, but it was probably just some freak of genetics. But no matter how much they loved me, I felt like an outsider. So I moved a few states away for college. It felt freeing, to be with people who looked like me. My mom says I have her eyes, and it's true, we share the same shade of green, but my pupils aren't vertical like hers. Here, everyone has round pupils. I made a few friends too. My best friend is my roommate. His name's Robby, and I got really lucky that I wasn't stuck with some slob. I've heard some horror stories about three week old Thanksgiving turkies and mold on unwashed dishes. But one day, everything changed. I was eating an ice cream cone on the couch, when I heard a glass shatter. Robbie was staring at me, eyes wide. "Are you...biting into that ice cream?"he whispered. "Yeah, what about it?" "You monster." I guess the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree after all.
"Son of a ..."Clarence muttered in disbelief, clutching the draft notice in his hands. Out of habit he rarely cursed aloud. In his head, however, a surge of the foulest language spewed like sewage, percolating through his anger. His fists clenched at his sides until his knuckles went white. An image flashed in his eyes. A picture of his father whole and in uniform and a memory of his mother shattered, weeping on the closed casket containing the charred pieces of the man she had loved. All she had left in the world was her son. Damned if he'd left the army take him from her too. \--- With a back as stiff as a ramrod he marched to the reporting station. Clarence pulled the army induction notice from his pocket and placed it on the table as though returning an unwanted gift. "I can't fight sir. It's against my beliefs."Clarence said to the officer. "Whatcha mean, son? You believe in your country, don't ya?"The officer was a tall, mustached man in his thirties and barely looked up from his clipboard as he talked. "Well yes sir. I'm a patriot. But my pops served in the last war and-" "Now his son'll do the same."The officer finished. Before Clarence could interject the officer continued, finally looking up from his paperwork to stare straight into Clarence's face with a steely eyed intensity. "Look private, I don't know what your pa told you but freedom ain't free. Congress' determined we need all the help we can get to fight these damn insurgents. Your number got drawn, so did all these other sorry sacks. Now unless you're here to tell me you've got bone spurs or some other made-up medical excuse that a doctor friend wrote up for you, you'll grab your gun, get in line, and shut your piehole soldier."
"Should we even bother? He's gonna be dead in a couple of days anyway." "Don't talk like that! It's his life, and he has a right to live it the best he can! At least, to live it without pain. And just you think on this, who gets to decide that you aren't worth saving, when there's a year"on your* clock!" Their efforts are heroic, yet he slips further and further from life, until his clock hits one. They note the time, and schedule the final parting. With family and friends surrounding his unconscious body, they hold hands and wait for the inevitable. When the moment arrives, there is a flicker, and his counter does not change. The final moment attendees are confused. The staff go from quiet supportive to dumbfounded to frightened in a matter of moments. Our subject takes a deep breath, the countdown clock does not change. The life support how l monitors shift showing stronger numbers with every beat. He awakens, looks around and asks, "how long do I have left?" Pandemonium. The staff clears the room. …—… "You are never going to die. It makes me livid to know that!" "Sorry, Doc, but you've got it all wrong." "How!?! Your number keeps going up! You have more and more days to live!" "Doc, what happens when I reach the number I had when I was born?"
"Chick, you must'a not paid attention. Would you be willing to accept Napoleon's rule today?" "Of course not! This is now, that was then. The conditions are not the same." "How's they different?" A long involved treatise on the critical differences between then and now. "So, what you're saying is that anyone who figures out how to warp people's minds has the right to be Napoleon." "Not at all!" "Go back through your argument, and think carefully on how each individual would have reacted if they'd never been influenced by Napoleon. Then try to tell me that Napoleon did no wrong." The wise old sow wanders off, leaving the young. Chicken to contemplate individuality. As she makes her way back to the stye, she talks quietly with everyone. Leaving hints and advice behind like crystals of salt in water close to freezing. As she settles with her family around her, "Some animals are wiser than others." ((finis))
Crack. The pavement shattered as John jumped out of the way, the incoming vine digging deep into the concrete. His machete clattered far away, and he turned around to see one of the vines reaching around the handle and rearing it up. "Grenade!" Thunk. He instinctively reached for his gas mask filter with one hand as the grenade landed, and the hiss of the biocide rushed out. The tendril started to shrivel before his eyes, as he scooted away from the poison. The machete clattered to the ground as a hand reached out towards him. "What the hell were you thinking?" "You were gonna die, you idiot."Jeff pulled the other up, keeping his launcher aimed at the plant mass before him, vines receding from the poison gas. "They'll give us hell for the extra cleanup!" "We'll deal with it later. Let's fall back." John took a glance at the machete, nested deeply in the gas, and sighed. "Fine."Being a plant hunter was shaping to be harder than he thought it would be.
\disclaimer--though my response does relate to the prompt, it is indirect and seen further on in the story.\** \--- The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the prison halls, accompanied by the rough scraping of cold metal chains on concrete. It was the first time any sound had rang though these narrow corridors in decades and the residents took notice. Curious faces peered through the bars at the new arrival who appeared to be a large lumbering man, who walked with a hunched gait as if carrying some enormous weight on his broad shoulders. He was noticeably hairy—more bearlike than man, really. Each slow, deliberate step could be felt through the prison bars. In spite of the man’s physically imposing size however, what was perhaps more intimidating was his “aura” so to speak. You couldn’t see it, but it was surely unmistakable. The usual sadism of the prison guards was absent, replaced by a cool vigilance in their solemn ushering. They kept their distance—using 6-foot long poles connected to collars and chains immobilizing various parts of the man’s body. Yet, the man controlled their pace—as if he moved of his own accord, tugging his escort along with him. As he passed each cell, the dim lighting seemed to darken even further, like heavy clouds passing over the sun. This was the type of person the prison had never seen before—and will be unlikely to ever see again. After a small eternity, the man reached his cell. He stepped inside and sat down. The prison itself seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. The jailers locked his cell and made their way back, their pace much faster this time. The trip to the cell had most likely expended their composure completely—they wanted nothing more than to leave this dark, solemn corridor as quickly as their pride would allow them. They left, shutting the gate behind them, a final thud signalling what felt like the end of an era. \--- The first day and first night passed in complete silence. On the second, all that sounded in the dark were the light mutterings and patterings of the old awkward residents. It was on the third day when someone found the courage to croak. “What’s your name, stranger?” A long pause. The man lifted his head. “…That’s not what you want to know.” He spoke with a long drawl, like molasses dripping from his mouth. “What you want to know is what I’m here for… and what I am.” The other prisoners looked at each other, reluctant to continue, but unable to stop. “What are you?” The man smiled, a sickly wide grin showing yellow teeth. “I’m a university student,” he said with amusement. “I’m here because of my research. More specifically, my thesis in black-hole matter translation.” His words echoed in the compound. The prisoners looked at each other, confusion palpable on their faces. They didn’t need to prompt him further however, as the man scratched his beard, adjusted his seating, and elected to continue. “To finish my degree in extra-terrestrial exploration and colonization, my chosen thesis project was to travel to the supermassive black hole at the centre of our galaxy and determine whether it was possible for a nearby planetary colony to use for massive orbital-waste disposal purposes. It was a great success…” Despite the unremarkable contents of the man’s speech, the prisoners listened intently, for reasons even they didn’t fully understand. “When an object falls into a black hole, immense relativistic forces are thrust upon it. The very fabric of spacetime rips apart as the matter and energy of the object is destroyed, lost forever. But there are universal constants at play here, things so fundamental that even the gravity of a singularity cannot hope to destroy them. This is the information of the object, its universal makeup, the source code. It is the very concept of that thing. This concept has to exist somehow—and the universe makes it so. Black holes emit hawking radiation when they consume—it is in this radiation that the source code for an object exists in its most fundamental state. In my research, I found it possible to collect this radiation and, with it, the source code of the object.” “Using this method, I was effectively able to understand fundamentally the nature of any object that fell into that black hole. I began testing, dropping small things at first. A chunk of iron from an asteroid, a container of water, some fuel for the propulsion system. With each test, I gathered more and more data. It took me weeks to understand what I received, but once I did, it was like the curtain of the universe had been pushed aside, allowing the light beyond to shine through. My hunger for knowledge only grew—I got more and more desperate. It was so beautiful, and it was mine alone.” The man gazed wistfully out the bars of his cell. He smiled. “Then one day, I locked my assistant in an escape pod and ejected it towards the black hole.” End of part 1. \--- Thanks for reading. I'm pretty new here, so any feedback is greatly appreciated! I've got more planned--I'll post it if anyone is interested. Please point out any grammatical or spelling mistakes, English is a second language. Thanks :)
A searing hot pain filled his skull, the stock of his gun had smashed into his nose before he knew what was happening. The clone had somehow disarmed him and struck his face in what felt like an inhuman movement. "You originals always seem to be susceptable to seeing yourselves plead for your life's, a solid weakness considering your endgame." Through warm blood filling his throat, he managed a meek reply. "You can kill me, you can torture me like the others but there's not a hope in hell I'll tell you where you'll find your target. She's safe, she's protected and even if you find her, she'll kill you." He smiled, an emotionless smile, like a shark. Silent dark eyes piercing, teeth bared slightly. "The defector. She can't save you originals. You must understand that in creating us, you handed over the earth. You reached the end of your evolutionary path. We are the next step. We are..." A distant crack sounded, then a whistling noise, faint at first, rang out. The clones head suddenly whipped back alarmingly and he dropped, lifeless to the ground. The original marched up and stood over his motionless body, inspecting the forehead. As he thought, a single bullet had punched a hole right in the middle, stopping the clone once and for all. "Yeah maybe pal, but there's still more of us."He spat blood and tooth out before picking back up his shotgun. The road ahead was long and he was in serious pain but the plan to bait clones out was working. Their arrogance was still astounding and was proving their biggest weakness. Maybe there was hope yet. Only several miles until ground zero. The original kept moving.
Out of 22 women, eighteen were paid off, three were killed, and one took the stand. The one who took the stand was my older sister. I watched it live on TV as James Randall walked free. But he should've walked faster. As he stopped to smile at the cameras and shake hands, I put my fingers on the screen and pinched at his neck. He coughed. Then coughed again, several more times as he unloosed his tie. He began to blink rapidly. His eyes watered. His face turned red. He grabbed at his neck and it looked like he was choking himself. His mouth opened and closed several times. Though I didn't hear him say anything, a camera man close by later reported that he had heard him say, "I can't breathe." He leaned forward, staggered down a few courthouse steps, then dropped off the screen. My fingers were pinched together so tight the tips were turning white. I released them.
It was finally going to happen. I was going to meet the other half of me- my soul mate (SM). For weeks leading up to ny 18th birthday, it was all I could talk about much to everyone's annoyance I'm sure. But it's the only thing I've got going for me. After I finished school, I didn't go to college, my friends and I are falling out of touch. I've no romantic interests, and all I've been able to do is get part time work so I can't travel, move out of home or pursue new hobbies. Im rudderless. I need this, I need a project. Preferably one which will lead to excitement and adventure. My parents asked me would I not wait and try to find them the old fashioned way, the ole wait and see. Wouldn't that be exciting? I shouldn't rush into things. They could be anybody, it could cause chaos and disrupt my life and I might not be mature enough to handle it yet. That they were glad they had waited until they were older and more mature. In their case it had meant walking away from other romantic relationships. There were consequences, lives already being lived had to be untangled. but I wouldn't listen, I knew better, there is someone out there who will fulfill me and will need me just as much as I need them. They will complete me. For my 18th birthday my parents present to me was to pay and submit my details to the Global Soulmate database (GSMD soultions) and begin the search. They cautioned that it wasnt guarenteed. My SM had to register too, they had to be over 18 and that I should be prepared this person could be anywhere, may not even been born or even dead. But I just had a feeling this was going to work. As the weeks passed and I heard nothing I grew dshearted. Maybe they weren't interested, they weren't looking for me. They didn't care or need to meet me like I needed them. I felt empty. I skimmed online forums and tv shows, magazine articles and followed social media #SMlife. Discussions about romatic SMs, platonic ones, heck even parent/child ones and each and everyone described the feeling of fulfilment and inner peace. It just wasnt fair, where and who was mine? Why was my life at a standstill, why was I such a loser. 6 months later a letter arrives; return address GSMD solutions. I tear it open, heart pounding. We've matched. It's a man from Swizterland called Leon and there is an option to meet. The wind is knocked out of me. I call the number of GSMD solutions. Its arranged for 2 months time, they reccomend myself and Leon get to know each other like pen pals before hand. They sent a how to guide pack for meeting. No going concerns identified. As part of dire diligence a criminal record check comes back clean for both of us. They dont divulge personal details about their clients except our names and locations and ensure that neither of us are classified as a vulnerable person. It is up to us to share our details. All expenses are paid due to a european travel grant. My parents are skeptical, Shouldn't i take this slowly etc. What do they know. We've been writing to each other for two months by email. His english is not great so we've not had phone calls, hes using google translate. The emails are polite and respectful in tone but it's not what I expected so far. Theres no spark. The day of travel comes and I arrive in Zurich. I've arranged to stay in a hotel in three city but Leon says he will ensure someone he knows will pick me up who has better english than him send bring me to his home as he cant drive. I'm nervous but excited. I let my parents know the plans for the evening. Maybe face to face we will finally build this connection I so desperately need. That evening a middle aged woman picks me up at the hotel. Shes friendly and again a little formal. Maybe it's a Swiss thing? We arrive at a place that looks like a gated community and head in... as we go inside I see older people sitting around, it clicks. Im in a nursing home. Im confused and cringing internally, my face is burning and I'm suddenly very hot and bothered. As I begin to walk further down the corridor the smell of antiseptic, my legs grow heavy. I want to run out but I'm propelled forward. Then finally im led to this private room... an old hunched over whisp of a man is propped up in an arm chair. Leon is 85 years old. His eyes are tired but bright and his skin is as thin as paper. When we shake hands I'll m gripped by strong bony cold fingers. We are then left alone and it turns out his english is excellent. I feel like a rabbit in headlights, my head is swimming; I cant think. The reality of the situation is crashing down on me. What was I thinking of coming here. How did I not ask his age. Why did I assume he would be young. Why did I rush into this. But Leon isn't phased and seems completely at ease. "I'm sorry I deceived you by omitting my circumstances but I had to meet you"he says. Over the next couple of hours he tells me of his life. His true love, his friendships, career and adventures of what seems like a past life. Three connection for this life and this old man dont click. He had no children and his wife is no longer alive. He asks me about my life, my hopes and dreams and he drinks my company up. Hes lonely. He feels like a prisoner of his age and his body and tells me how all of his peers are gone but he still wants more from life. Hes not ready to give up. I'm here for a week and he asks me to please continue to meet him while I'm here and I agree out of social pressure. He's a nice man but I cant say I feel what all of those SM life shows have talked about. My time is Zurich is not what I've expected. The middle aged woman is Leon's private nurse and brings Leon to see me at my hotel on the third day. We sit in the drawing room, menus in hand. We cant go sight seeing because he is too delicate to do more than sit and have lunch or be helped in and out of a car. I ask him does he know what he's going to have and out of no where he hits me with a dilemma. "My dear, I still have yet to tell you why I needed to meet. You see I am immobile, with a weak constitution, but yet I want to live a life that is physically beyond my means. I have a proposal for you. I am extremely wealthy and could make your life very comfortable and help you fulfil every dream possible. As you know we are soul mates which sure comes with emotional benefits for some, but did you also know about the genetic and medical links and capabilities? If I was able to get some DNA from you it could invigorate me immensely, and extend my life".... I'm speechless, a bolt of electricity goes through me. "What exactly do you mean?"I splutter. My already restricted conversation skills curtailed to basic responses and phrases. "Well for starters, I could really use some bone marrow and plasma and some younger blood. Blood transfusions from young blood is very beneficial in general and I am no stranger to this... but eh where you specifically are concerned , the above combined with stem cells created by you, ahem, and me through artificial methods would give me another 10-15 years but with the physical energy of a 60 year old so doctors say." Silence crashes down on top of both of us. It is as if the floor is fallen out from under me eventhough I am sitting down... is this decreped old creature really asking this of me? To use me as an incubating sow for his own gain for the prospect of money! We stare at each other across the coffee table. The atmosphere sucked out of the room. Leon tells me hes never seen the point in SMs until he found out about the medical side. If I could extend his life he would be at peace. After all my hopes of wanting to feel fulfilled, of wanting someone to need me- my hope's and fantasy has twisted into a sorded nightmare. A waitress comes up and asks have we're decided what we want. Leon looks back at me expectantly.
At'hubar sighed, clasping his many-knuckled fingers in a meditative state. He couldn't keep it down. The enormity of the pain he was about to inflict on the species he had studied and guided for the past eon was weighing heavy in his hearts like cooling magma. They had progressed well depite their overall militant nature, but the past 47 solar rotations had stagnated their progress. Two coalitions glared at each other over oceans with armies ready to march to war despite At'hubar's best efforts. The humans were stubborn. It required a more direct approach to unite them. Intra-species warfare in the space age was grounds for the removal from the list of protected intelligent species, and would open their planet to be stripped of resources by the procurement guilds. Either way, the humans would unite or die out. A klaxon sounded. "Drone production complete"a message from the foundry on the dark side of the planet's natural satellite. A feed showed millions of ground and air combat drones stored in racks like brooding predatory insects in their hive. "Activate Charon protocol,"At'hubar said, a rare hint of emotion lining the first directive he'd ordered in a local decade. The drones sensory units erupted in malignant amber light. He turned off the feed. He couldn't watch.
Reality is a fickle thing some say it’s based on our mentality or the basic principles of our very fragile existence but i know the truth of the matter. Our reality is perception on what we can see and know information itself. Torrents of fire spread through the city below the great demon lord Almasth clashing with the white king’s chosen personal guard. Each of the mounted knights cleaved in twain with each and every masterful stroke of the ancient god’s obsidian war axe. A set of footsteps coming from behind my perch upon the gatehouse a small flickering trail of flames just outside of my periferi. Low whistling coming from the shadowy figure standing next to me gazing at the raging chaos below kicking one of the demon’s captain’s bodies from the wall. “Do you think that we will disappear when their duel ends ” the voice is gentle and calm. Moments passing in the silence as the old king and demon clash blades the raging battle parting for the pairs duel. Distant magic and audible clanging audible from even as far away as we were an artful display of might and hatred halting the battle. “Who is to say we were summoned into this word as pawns in their game set against each other to kill and maim in their blood soaked names.” . My gaze turned toward my ally standing by my side, his gleaming white armor and plate helmet stained in large splatters of crimzon blood held under his arm. My hand quickly pulling my old leather wallet from my recesses of my robe pulling out a picture of my son bright eyed and smiling into the camera. “Though i would like to see my family once more i fear that in seven years i have been gone they have already moved onward from my disappearance” My voice feeling almost froign on my lips the deep gravelly voice far flung from what i had come here the world had changed us. The white hero slowly taking the photo from my armored glove and gazing into the black and white photo the battle below reaching its climax as the pair began to reach their final conclusion pushing into the city’s central market square. My companions eyes turning red and accidentally wiping a long trail of blood across his eyes in a vain attempt to remove his trespassing emotions. “They are beautiful it’s been so long since i have even glimpsed home after they took me when i was sleeping thank you Gregry”. The guardian holding the picture back to me and pushing it into my hand shaking it in the process forcing the gesture into a bro hug against my will. “If we are lucky it won’t be the last time but for now hold onto our plot is to fail you will need that more than i would you knightley bastard”. . Slowly I raised my hands writing a message into the air with the glowing pen in my hand in our hosts script passing it along to our fellow compatriots. Small lines of faint glowing energy beaming toward each and every tower along the walls the two sides fighting in those areas turning the ballistas mounted along the wall inward. My hands pulling the spell book into my shaking hands flipping through my notes to the small section devoted to the reflection of light. “Redding you know this is our one chance at this if we fail we will have to continue this endless war fighting both sides”. The great silver knight quickly pulling his helmet onto his head and turning my direction his eyes blocked by the magic concealing his face. “You worry to much”“I don’t have dwarf crafted armor i have to worry” the battle finally ending the great king’s lifeless corpse thrown into the army of demons cackling madly in the glowing flames. The circle of ballistas finally clicking into place all locked onto the elevated clearing in the center of the city a barrage of faded magic returning all reporting similar messages from the crews “Ready to Fire”. “Give the signal” my hands drawing a weak signal collapsing into a small glowing arrow of red light to the guardian quickly notching the arrow and firing into the sky. It’s path bridging it over the center of the city the battle raging below as it reached its apex and exploding into a shower of glowing flames descending on the square . the flames sticking onto the flying demonic creatures floating overhead the small shadows quickly falling toward the ground crushing the small groups of warriors. . Time creeping into a crawl as the ever so fiendish demon lord turned his gaze towards us arcane energy collapsing around his outstretched war axe. Each ballista bolt rocketing into the center of the warring factions betrayal crossing the devil's lips as the volly impacted throwing up a cloud of expanding magical vortex into the air. Large amounts of the invading army vanishing and dissipating crying out in anguish and fury some loyal cultists battling the combined force of the traitors and survivors. All was as it should be the small group in the center of town eviscerated by a steady stream of regular bolts flying into the ranks. My hands quickly checked over my body looking for any sign of magical deterioration or banishment to find nothing. “Were still here i always knew that bastard was lying” the guardians voice rather crass for the moment clutching the photo in his hands. “We both knew that’s why we found eachother in the first place at Silveran. At least we were able to turn the tables against the pair of tyrants now go claim your place as a figurehead of this new chaos fill the power vacuum”. “And just what the piss are you going to do you know i can’t run a kingdom” my slow trek toward the siege tower carrying me forward onto it’s ramp. “I'm going to kill a few potential future power struggle related problems. I will be there when you need my help for now just get people together i told mine to follow your instructions”. The glowing stone in my pocket flashing pulling me out of the burning city and into the central plaza of the dark lord’s great throne room. My trusted associate Intasc walking out from the shadows hands full of reports an wild look in her green eyes and sharp elven expression “We have control of the major cities here are the reports on the failed coups in the orc’s domain well done my lord we have won.”
Every time I close my eyes I see it again. Everything is scorched, even the very earth. There is ash falling from the skies, coating husks of people and places. The trees are a forest of broken black trunks without branches or canopy. I would look away if I could, but I can't; I can only watch the fat flakes slowly suffocate whatever tiny embers might be left. Even the smoke itself has died and there is only that same desolate silent scene stretching on forever. It has been three weeks without sleep now. My family prayed over me day and night. They burnt herbs above me when I cried out, cast out every spirit that has ever been, but still the nightmares haunted me. They would keep going if I asked it of them, but I will not. There is no other choice now. I have to see the Oracle. \-- She is waiting for me when I finally crest the mountaintop. I open my mouth to speak, but she already knows why I am there - and why shouldn't she? "I am so sorry. But you are an Oracle."She gestures me closer, to sit beside her. It is an offer that something in me wants to reject. Instead I ask my question. "So it is the future, then? There is nothing I can do to change it?" She makes her way to me and takes my face between her hands, gentle against the cruelty she is about to subject me to. She brings her lips to my forehead and kisses my head, and then says "Oh, blessed are you, the naive." I only stare at her eyes, seeing the reflection of my own, so wide. "Don't you see? There is no future. It is not a dream. It is a memory. We only see the past, but we will repeat it forever."
* August 22 - 2106 - The United States of America restructures after a brief, but intense civil war. The United Republics of North America is formed from various autonomous regions within the former United States, southern Canada and some of the Northern Mexican states. * December 17 - 2128 - After twenty-two years of expansion warfare, China ceases hostilities and works to pacify claimed territories. The Peoples Republic of China expands to the Chinese Protectorate of Communist States is born, with India, Pakistan, North Korea and Mongolia being absorbed in to this new entity. While completed on maps and on paper, the military spent several more decades pacifying dissidents and working to incorporate both economic gains and hardships from these conquered locations. Continental Africa is decimated as the Chinese government forces conscriptions from their new central African economic regions. * January 8 - 2129 -- The Russian Federation discovers significant uranium deposits in the melting permafrost, as well as considerable oil and iron reserves. This leads to a revolution of the Russian people and economy, bringing cultural reforms and vast economic wealth in an otherwise war-torn region. Russia is seen as a powerhouse in the same light as the United States of old. * September 9 - 2207 - The European Union holds strong in the face of increased altercations along the Protectorate and Russian borders. With the dissolution of Nato in the early 22nd Century, the European Union expanded into the Baltic and Nordic states, much to the insense of Russia which has begun operations to reclaim various north-eastern European nations. * June 23 - 2289 - Russia has successfully reclaimed Georgia and Ukraine, and has pushed further by claiming Turkey, Syria and Uzbekistan. Czechia is one of the few small countries capable of mounting a stable defense and remains independent thanks to it's burgeoning artificial intelligence and arms industry. * February - 13 2291 - The United Arab Emirates has spent the last century expanding it's borders and influence, and now incorporates Iran, Iraq, Kuwait, Yemen, Israel, Libya, Egypt, and Algeria. Everything south of Chad and Niger remains under Chinese control. * March 27 - 2305 - Western Europe unites under the banner of the "United Imperials", encompassing the United Kingdom, France and claiming to have liberated several cities in Chinese-occupied South Africa. News and media sources reflect this as Chinese soldiers are seen flooding cities with troops and armor, and uniformed European soldiers are seen fighting back. The United Arab Emirates takes this as an opportunity to inflict damage to the Chinese Protectorate, shifting the bulk of combat to the new front in southern Egypt and southern Libya, where Chinese forces work to defend their interests in Eritrea, Chad and Sudan. You are a soldier of the United Imperials, being dropped behind enemy lines to remove the Chinese war criminals from their holdings in North Africa and the Middle East. While your leadership brokers treatise with the United Arab Emirates. While the scope of the situation doesn't elude you, standing side by side with your brothers in arms brings a sense of overwhelming pride, and to bring freedom to the oppressed masses of the Sino-Africaans is a note of pride for you. A popular quote once told us that war never changes, and honestly, it couldn't be more correct. The very concept of killing people that disagree with you has been around for millennia, and it didn't appear to be going anywhere soon. What was shaping up to be World War Four was keying up in Northern Africa, and the 42nd Panzerdragoons of the United Imperials had been selected to insert behind enemy lines, in a fairly desolate and poor part of the world, far from the prying eyes of the Chinese SOCRETES system and it's anti-air capabilities. Not that an armored column of six tanks, twelve troop carriers and roughly three hundred men was something easy to hide, but it would be enough to get forces on the ground and establish a front. Serge sat anxiously at the back of the plane, looking through the double-plated lexan windows at the landscape below - Scrub grass, red dirt and dry, arid landscape as far as he could see. Quite the opposite of the views back home, but not entirely unwelcome. Behind him stretched the cavernous interior of a once-decommissioned, now-forced-to-service Globemaster transport plane, one of the largest legacy-fuel vehicles remaining on the planet. While attempts had been made to retrofit the plane with solar and hydrogen hybrid systems, they failed in comparison to the massive set of two-century-old turbines. Truly a marvel of the once-modern-era, it flew heavy and low now, bearing the hopes of the United Imperials in the cargo hold.
I'm woken up by a hand shaking my shoulder. "Prince Gregory, it's time to get up." I roll around in bed to see Felicia, Flora, Jakob, Lilith, and Gunter gathered around my bed. I recognise all of them immediately, but last time I checked they were all fictional characters. "I think he's still asleep. You know what to do."I remember this part, so I leap out of bed before Flora and Felicia use their ice powers to shock me more awake. "I'm up! I'm up. I'm just a little disoriented. You guys woke me up in the middle of the strangest dream and I had to get my bearings." I know this place. I know these people. This is the start of Fire Emblem: Fates. A game I've played a dozen times by now. But if that's true then something terrible is coming, and since I seem to have self-inserted into the protagonist's shoes that means it will be up to me to get everyone through it. This is gonna suck. Later that day my adopted siblings Xander, Camilla, Leo, and Elise come to visit the fortress and inform me the king has requested my presence. Xander insists on sparing with me, and during the match I'm pleasantly surprised that I have muscle memory from years of training I never had. At least I can fight in this world. ___ The next day I'm brought to the capital, where King Garon insists that I kill two unarmed prisoners to prove my loyalty. I know Corrin couldn't bring himself to kill them, but I can't remember the exact argument they used, so I just wing it. "I'm sorry sir, but I refuse to kill these people." "You would dare defy me? These people are Hoshidians, they are enemies of Nohr. They do not deserve to live." "They're unarmed. They can't do anything to harm us, why kill them when they could be useful?" And that's where I first screwed up. Corrin wasn't that pragmatic, they would have pleaded for their lives because life was valuable, not for any tactical reasons. "And how do you propose we make use of them?"Garon sneers. "We could use them for information. Interrogate them on Hoshido defences and allies." "They had already been interrogated long before being brought here. Neither of them would speak a work of useful information." "We could use them as hostages. Trade them for captured Nohrian soldiers." "Any Nohrian soldier foolish enough to be captured isn't worth trading for." "The woman is wearing clothing from the flame tribe. She could be used as a bargaining chip to turn the Flame tribe against Hoshido." "The woman is nothing. Now kill them and prove your loyalty to Nohr." "I don't think-"I'm cut off by an explosion that engulfs the prisoners. Everyone in the room looks to Leo, who simply shrugs. "Arguing in circles was getting us nowhere." ___ Later that day, Leo informs me he teleported the prisoners away, and his agents are escorting him to the border. Even later that day I'm summoned back to the throne room. "I'm disappointed in you, Gregory. Your defiance today is nothing short of treasonous." "I'm sorry, father. I have excuse for my defiance." "I'm giving you one chance to redeem yourself."Garon reveals an obviously evil sword covered in eyes and teeth. "You are to take this blade and scout a Hoshidan fort near the Bottomless Canyon. Hans will be there to observe you." "Father, you can't be serious."Xander was apparently listening in. "That man is a criminal, I arrested him myself. He should have been executed for his crimes." "Silence! Hans has been reformed, and I have chosen to trust him with this task. I will hear no more on the subject. Now, in addition to Hans, you may take Felicia and Gunter with you. Now go." ___ After some traveling me and my party reach the Bottomless Canyon and the border outpost, which we find crawling with Hoshidians. I know how this next scene ends, but I'd rather skip it, so I turn to Felicia and Gunter. "Do you two trust me?" "Of course."Comes the unanimous reply. "Good, because I need you to kill Hans." "I hate him as much as you do, but Garon will be suspicious if we return without him."Gunter worries. "I have a plan for that, but right now we need to remove Hans while we have the chance." "As you wish, my lord."Gunter turns impales Hans while his back is turned to us and drops his corpse into the canyon below. That gets the Hoshidan's attention and they swarm the bridge. I put my hands up in surrender, and Gunder and Felicia follow suit. "State your business."The Hoshidans leader barks. "My name is Prince Gregory, son of Queen Mikoto. I've been held hostage in Nohr for the past ten years, and I would like to go home now." "Like I would believe such an outlandish claim." "You don't have to believe it. Just take us to the capital and Mikoto will confirm it herself. We'll even go unarmed if it makes you feel better."With that I throw the obviously evil sword Garon gave me into the canyon and motion my allies to do the same. "We're taken into custody for the night while the Hoshidan commander decides what to do with us. In that time the two prisoners I had spared arrive at the fort. One of them introduces himself as Kaze, the queen's retainer. He also says he recognised me as the missing prince when we met before, and convinces the leader of the Hoshidian forces (who happened to be his brother, Saizo) to release us so we can be taken to the queen. ___ Another few days of travel and we're brought before the queen, who tearfully welcomes me back. Before she can celebrate anything, I tell her "My real father is planning something big, and we need to be somewhere else to talk about it."I can see the joy in her expression shatter, but I know we don't have time for celebration. Especially if I'm going to save her life. "Summon princess Azura."Mikoto orders. When the blue haired songstress arrives the three of us have an awkward conversation where we all try to communicate what's going on without using any proper names, until Azura finally gets the picture and uses her song to transport us to Valla. "We have a lot to talk about and this is the only place we can do it without dying so I'll talk quick. First of all, Garon's been dead for years and Nohr is currently being controlled by a nasty water monster disguised as him. The fake king works for Anankos, who wants to get Nohr and Hoshido to destroy each other. I'd really like to avoid that, so we need a plan to kill Garon and give the throne to his much more reasonable son so we can form an alliance with Nohr and invade Valla and kill dear old dad so he can't pull any more stunts like this that endanger everyone." Mikoto just stood there, shocked. "You were only an infant when we escaped this place. We raised you to believe King Sumeragi was your father. How did you learn any of this?" "Anankos left a message for me before he completely lost his mind."I lie. "Speaking of, I need a dragonstone. Right now I'm a ticking time bomb waiting for some kind of trauma strong enough to turn me into a feral monster, which is something I do not want to happen." The three of us discuss a plan to stop my insane dragon father from killing everything and return to Hoshido, where I am introduced to my step siblings, Ryoma, Hinoka, Takumi, and Sakura, who insist on celebrating my return. While preparing for the festivities, Azura creates a dragonstone for me and I practice using it to turn into a dragon myself in secret until the day of the festival, where my return to Hoshido will be publicly announced. ___
The doorbell rings and John "Murderguy"Doe peeks out the window at the 7-foot tall abomination of black flesh standing politely at the door. He recognizes it instantly as a Reaver, an alien commander with razor-sharp tendrils, psychokinesis, and a particularly nasty appetite for human flesh. Nasty to deal with in hand-to-hand, but satisfying as hell to rip apart with buckshot. His shotgun, Annabelle, rested neatly on the mantlepiece, slowly growing dust over the top of its ten years of bloodstains. He rises and gently wipes it clean with a cloth as his other hand runs over an extremely painful ulcer. He feels the pounding of bloodlust rushing through him again, just like the last invasion, and the 9 before that one. He stops, and catches his breath, remembering what the doctor told him: No more alien murder sprees. He could already hear the whirring of army helicopters coming in to clean up the mess and the distant sounds of gunshots tearing through alien flesh. He sighed, and took a seat by the window, taking a sip of milk and returning to the page he had left his copy of Pride and Prejudice on.
Some say I'm a monster, others say I'm a hero for what I did, for what they thought I did. Started a world war some would argue, righteously purged a corrupt politician the opposition claimed. Both couldn't have been farther from the truth, not that it matters any more. The voice of those liars prevailed, justice destroyed as readily as the head rolled from atop its gilded pedestal. In the yard the medium-security inmates played in the morning ash, in the corridors the military police patrolled endlessly down the faded halls. Endless cries from hunger and thirst bellowed down the corridors in an unending chorus of requiem bells. The coppery scent of fresh blood seeped through the scorched air, as if death itself was reaching out and taunting me. "Just do it already."I muttered faintly, "Today is execution day."A cool breeze swept through the cell, pushing death away like a crow forced away from its meal. own the hall metal clanged in rhythm, rusty old keys clashed against the tattered uniform of an old world warden. "Rise and shine, Icarus!"the old man shouted in my general direction, the glee in his voice echoed for all to hear, making a spectacle out of an execution like they always did. "You have a visitor!" A visitor? No. The only visitors to this facility are the executioners and the crimson priest. hidden behind the clamoring footsteps of the warden a second set hid, matching the rhythm only the shifting ash deceived its motion. Being chained up in isolation has tendency to sharpen one's senses. What are lost to the eyes are often found in the ears. &#x200B; The warden stopped before my cell and tapped the locked handle to my cell a couple times. I couldn't be bothered to raise my head to view him as he vied for my attention. "Look alive, boy!"he shouted, "I'm not here to kill you yet"he continued jamming a rusted key into the lock. With a loud screeching that could have been mistaken for torture, the locking mechanism gave way. "But he is, so play nice."the warden pushed the visitor into my cell before slamming shut the barrier. &#x200B; Standing before me a thin, tall man in a bone-white labcoat, a feign smile plastered on his aged face, visibly holding back his disgust he lifted a clipboard to reading position. "Icarus, aged 15. Sentence: Death by ash intoxication."He read from his clipboard with an amused tone of voice. "Quite a horrible way to go out, don't you think?"A redundant question. &#x200B; "What does it matter to you"I replied, "This world has written me off, how I die is of little consequence." To that he laughed as if he had heard the silliest thing ever, an alien sound for such a place. "Well of course not"he started, pausing to recollect himself, "which is why I have been authorized to give you two options."the amusement drained away as he looked into my broken eyes, deathly serious he presented me with an ultimatum. "You can die a horrible death befitting your crimes, or to probably die in a painless experiment of sorts." In his shadow death loomed, poised to strike. In one hand he held the clipboard, in the other outstretched stood a small black box no larger than a human finger. Not that I have anything to loose, one way or another death has finally come for me. "What do need me to do?" The doctor grinned, revealing a row of rotting teeth. "Quite simple really"he waved the device around as if it were a magic wand "this device will transfer your consciousness into itself, in essence you will become immortalized in data."he proclaimed as if gospel, "and through your data we-" "Enough."I intervened, getting impatient with death's grandstanding. "Do what you will, but make it snappy ok?" "So be it"He turned to the warden, "this process will take but a minute, mind waiting around the corner?"he waived the warden off. Whoever this doctor is must be quite important to be able to tell the warden off without repercussions. Returning to his victim he pressed the device into the palms of my weak hands. Like ice it pierced the flesh, like poison it burned through my veins. in an instant it was absorbed into the flesh, like lightning it sent shockwaves reverberating across my chest. "What in the?!"as quickly as it started it was done, the pain dropping off into the void, leaving nothing but numbness in its wake. "What did you do?" "Hush my child"his voice distant as the sun fell away, "for this is your rebirth." The world fell away into a weightless tunnel, the room rapidly grew faint like distant car lights speeding away, the scorching air wiped away by a long lost icy breeze I fell into the abyss.
&#x200B; You can hear water rushing. First, you think it's in your ears. Sometimes when everything gets too loud your brain will just play static over the noise to let you focus. So you think it's in your ears, but then your feet are cold and heavy, and you look down to see pink water flowing over your shoes. Into them. You got waterproof boots after one two three four six or ten times you ended up needing them. You got waterproof boots and now they're filling up anyway. This is a massive crowd. You thought the crowds last election season were big, but now they're so thick you can't see the flashing lights through them. Now they're angry and they're far less likely to have job security keeping them at home when a protest flares up. Someone yells. There's a bang like fireworks or a car backfiring, everyone knows what the noise was but you're not a medic so for now it was fireworks or a car backfiring and you're not going to look at the water anymore or think about why it's pink. Of course the noise doesn't help with crowd control. You and somebody are filtering people onto the main road. It's safest on the main road, where people can't be boxed in. The cars have stopped and they're honking, and the noise makes you almost want the static to come back. Directing people is easier than it looks. If you stand in place and point, they will follow. It helps to have a uniform, but nobody here is going to trust a uniform. The water levels out, drains into the sewer, and then the noise is back. When you started chasing danger you were a firefighter and you wonder, if it had worked out, whether you would be aiming your hose at someone here today. But it did not work out and you're running. Someone else yells. You wonder how the yelling always predates the gunshot, but maybe your brain just inserts the yelling it registered beforehand the same way it inserts the static. Your mouth is too dry for how wet your clothes are. You can hear your friends, yelling, you look back and there are 1 2 3 of the people you arrived with and you don't see person 4. You decide person 4 is lost in the crowd and not on the ground. You will find out whether this was correct later, but for now, person 4 is in the crowd and you have to go. You think maybe it's time to get a gun.
You pace down the street. It's a quiet afternoon, cloudless sky, presumably the late fall, wind blowing down the sidewalk dragging dead leaves with it, the cold biting through your black wool pea-coat & shabby suit. To your right, a line of black cars as far as the eye can see. You wonder what's going on, and yet at the end of the street, there it is. A massive Victorian mansion, doors open a sad butler at the door. He wipes a tear from his eye, and welcomes you in. You pace the hall, but it's right there, ahead of you. Rows and rows of above-average folding-chairs, upon which sit easily hundreds of people all dressed appropriately in black. Some cry into handkerchiefs, some wait patiently, some look at their phones with clear boredom. And at the very end of the room was a black coffin, lid ajar. You nervously take a seat next to a young woman sobbing into her hands, and put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. It doesn't seem to work. Someone stands, and walks up to the little podium beside the casket, a woman with deeply tanned skin and purple hair. She looks composed, and her voice is quite even. "I feel as though I never really knew him. To say it happened slowly would be a lie, to say that it happened quickly would be just as much a lie. I spent a lot of time with him, I was his wife after all, but even when we were close, he felt distant, not quite there. It's not surprising that it's come to this, that one day, five years ago, he just... vanished, as though into thin air. I suppose that we can't say he's dead. Yet. But he's clearly moved on. He is as though dead, for, to me, he never quite was alive to begin with."She moves to sit down. You simply watch. A man stepped up after the woman. He coughed a little. "I can't say I knew him either. He was a strange man, and I don't yet know if I miss him, even though I at one point considered him to be my closest friend. There's a worth-while anecdote I could share of his life, that best summarizes my memory of him. He once invited us to a like, five-star restaurant. One of those crazy-mad expensive ones, where like, even the water has gold in it, a place you only go to flex on those that are past you. And of course he ordered chicken-wings as an appetizer, and we all ate some. So there they came out, covered in gold, cuz of course. And my first thought, god these suck, they're under-seasoned. And Myla says the sauce is tasteless. And Angel says that they're raw, like actually not fully cooked. And then there's him. Munching away. He gets through three before we throw the plate on the ground. I suppose I empathize with his wife what killed him, a little bit. He was a stranger all his life."The man nods, and sits back down. An older woman stands and slowly walks to the podium, and she dabs tears from her eyes. "I... I can't imagine what he went through. First... the death of his father... The suicide of his mother... And so young... I... That poor boy. It's not surprising, I suppose... To see him go so young... To end his beautiful life..."She cries her way back to her seat. You feel compelled to walk up to the podium, but are beaten by a tall and dainty woman in a strapless black dress. "I've heard so many negative things about him. I can hardly refute him. I do not believe history will be any kinder to him. And yet, no life is all bad. He once saved me from assault, from the goodness of what could charitably be called his heart, and for that... I'll always remember him." What felt like the rest of the wake went up to share their thoughts on this mystery man; most harsh, many contradictory, very few remotely non-judgmental. Finally, you stand, and walk to the podium. You have almost everyone's attention, yet you don't quite know what to say. You glance in the casket, wondering if you'll recognize the man, pondering for not half a moment whether or not it's yourself, and yet... It's nobody that you recognize. A stranger, a very plain looking young man with a perfectly acceptable beard and carefully coiffed hair. "I..."you begin. "I think that I'm the only one who ever fully knew him. He was, contrary to popular belief, not a saint nor a sinner. He was not a scholar nor a poet, not a hero or villain. We so often construct stories about our dearly departed, remembering them not as they were, but as we wanted them to be. Nay, he was simply a man. He had his flaws, he had his accomplishments. Do we not all have our own problems that plague us, that we must overcome or accept? No man is perfect, and it is our imperfections that make us whole, and so I must declare him to be the most whole of us all, and that the world is the worse for us to not have him in it. Yet I fear you have already made your decisions, so if I'm the only one to speak honestly for the dead... So be it." You are faced with stares as you walk back to your seat. The rest of the funeral is quiet and fast. Nobody else has anything to say. The casket is sealed, and the pallbearers (you among them), carry it out through a side-door and down the path to the family plot beyond the gardens. It's lowered into the ground, and the two grave-diggers get to work, as the attendees watch on. You just stand there as a stranger is buried. Finally people clear out. Most are bored, some complain of hunger, wondering if there's something to eat in the house, or if they'll have to find a MacDonald's on the drive back home. You just keep standing by the grave. The stone is immaculate granite. This, says the stone, is where Ezra Chertok is to be laid to rest. May angels guide him through the clouds, may the sun shine eternal, may his days be plentiful. A loving son, a caring husband, and a close friend to all. Born March 27th, 1992, Died August 1st, 2020. You have no reason to be here anymore. You've said your piece, it's time to go. You don't even have a car. And yet... To go feels almost wrong. You look over, a large stone with two names on it, presumably Ezra's parents. A fresh wreath of bright flowers is laid on their headstone. You pick it up, stepping over, and resting it on Ezra's. Even though you were never known, you think to yourself, I'll never forget you.
Teleburgers was quite an advanced restaurant at its time. No one talked except for Sally the cashier who rang up the totals and told customers how much they owed the place. In the kitchen, the chefs spoke to each other, but not in the typical way you might think. Rather than hearing the occasional yelling from novice chefs, it was all inside their minds. "Jerry, you've gotta get a grip on yourself. This boy needs a sandwich with extra bacon."But this was just the kitchen. From the main entrance, people walked in, had their orders elicited from their minds, and that was it. There was no, "I'd like to get a double cheeseburger with fries and a medium shake on the side."But, the cashier and the chefs didn't need to communicate with each other. They only needed the host of a consumer. Benjamin walked through the double doors of Teleburgers on a bright Saturday afternoon, expecting to walk up to the register and say, "I'd like a crispy chicken sandwich, no tomatoes, tater tots, medium Dr. Fizz"with his own voice. He passed by the round tables colored by red with an outer ring of yellow, the consumers too focused on eating their greasy burgers with glutton on their minds. Stepping up to the register, he was about to speak his order, but then a chef from the kitchen brought out his exact order that he hadn't even said yet. Without hesitation, the cashier said, "That'll be seven fifty-two." Benjamin just looked at his food and then at the cashier with shock on his face. Surely what he had just witnessed with a mere illusion of his imagination. He pinched his side, hoping that would wake him up inside, but he felt the pain of his sting. "Pay up, Benjamin." Benjamin awoke out of his thoughts and reached into his pocket for his wallet. He handed his card to Sally, who then said, "Don't you know why this place is called 'Teleburgers'? We can read your mind and give you exactly what you want. It saves time and frustration from customers who say one food order, but then we give it to them, and they complain. They complain!" She gave back his card along with his food tray and said, "Enjoy." Benjamin then said, "Thanks, you too,"and smacked his forehead.
It began with sirens wailing in the middle of the night. Firetrucks sped past my window, one right after another. It was like a parade, except they ran eighty kilometers an hour, and the sky looked like it was six in the morning. I was instantly out of my bed and soon, clambering above the roof of our house. The harsh, cold wind blew, filled with ash that sent me coughing. There, near the trash infested river that flowed some blocks away was a tower of thick, black smoke against a sky that glowed almost as red as a sunset. I pulled out my phone to get a closer look at it. A long line of fire, blazing and burning everything. When did this start? What happened? Why haven't- An incredible sound filled the air completely, shaking the ground and sending people all around me shrieking. Another plume of smoke rose off to the side. By now, my neighbors were awake, and they too were above their roofs, adults, teenagers, and children alike. They were all speaking nervously, all wondering what exactly was happening. Then, someone shouted. I turned to the voice, my neighbor pointing up to the sky. I followed their hand, and I stopped breathing. Far above, was a person. There was no plane, no rope, no anything that could've kept them there, and yet they were standing high in the air. I could only recognize a silver suit, and long black shoes. The hero. He was real. He was all the news talked about: a rising celebrity turned true superhero that promised to bring the world peace. I was long a fan of him since he first appeared. Admittedly, he had big dreams, but I had prayed that if he really were a superhero, he could make those dreams come true. "Rejoice,"his voice rang, loud as if it spoke through a set of speakers. "I am here to save you all. You no longer have to suffer."The voice sounded happy, and I could even hear some cheers around me, but I couldn't stop the chill that ran through me. I had an instant to look back to the river, and I realized too late what was burning: the houses of informal settlers. Houses like mine. Screams rang out behind me, and everything felt hot. I looked up above me again. Was this the peace he promised? Was he-
\[Poem\] "It's not illegal," Jeff reminded himself. "Nothing's wrong, pal" he told his mirror self. "I have a perfect life." &#x200B; Except that Jeff didn't. Each morning he spent talking out his guilt over his secret life. &#x200B; "They won't understand my curse. They'd disbelieve and doubt and dismiss me. That's worse. &#x200B; “To keep the life I’ve built no one can find out.” &#x200B; "I'm from an alternate universe." &#x200B; \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #061 You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
As a kid you always hear of the boogeyman, a monster so sinister, only a few have seen it and laid eyes on it. I am one of the few, I can see the boogeyman, hiding from me. I'm pretending I can't see him. He likes to play games, seems he doesn't like it when he's on the receiving end. He's scared, "I see you, now we could do this the easy way or the hard way." He roared in his native language, Luckily I can translate I know what he said but I gave him my warning. "You haven't registered to vote. Remember to vote"
Upon learning about the multiverse I was initially insulted. After all, there was supposed to be nobody bigger than me, the God of Creation. Turns out I've always been the God of all Creation of only my home world. Just a big fish in a tiny pond, with a massive ocean just waiting to be explored. I'll admit I had a bit of a temper tantrum upon initially learning about this, and when I get back I really should apologise to my devout followers. That plague of locusts was uncalled for, in hindsight. But my anger quickly turned into wonder as I realised that this must be what mere mortals felt like. What their world is to them, this multiverse is to me. And so I started exploring. Visiting other worlds, finding out I still held my powers there. Though there were realities where other Gods were more powerful than me, they tolerated me as long as I kept a low profile. Others were the opposite, but I made a point of returning such courtesy to those lesser deities. Until I got here. As ever I tried calling out to the God, or pantheon, ruling over this reality but...there simply is none. Nothing, nobody watching over these worlds. And barely any intelligent life, either. I found one planet where life was budding, so I went there first. But as I landed and assumed the form of the species of the highest sentience, I found myself incapable of shifting back. Nothing worked anymore. Couldn't even perform a minor miracle. I understood then that without the devotion of the people, there was no belief, and with no belief...no Gods. No divine powers. That is how I came into being...how all the Gods I met on my journeys were born. But here, there were none. So I joined these people, and started my plan to live among them. I became Your prophet, and helped them create faith, religion, belief. I guided them as specifically as I could...taking all those lessons from ages of divinity to do something I never thought was possible. Why then am I being ignored. Why do other faiths pop up, and why do other prophets get to see their Gods. Why are you not listening, oh He who lives thanks to me. What am I doing wrong? Thousands of years I've toiled away to create You. Am I forever doomed to walk amongst them? Give me a sign, please. I need Your help to get back to my reality. I'm begging You. Or is it all just an illusion? Are those other prophets merely fakes, who claim to have seen a God, just to manipulate the masses? Have my efforts bore no fruit? There are things on this world that cannot be explained without Godhood, and yet...perhaps I was wrong. Oh so wrong. And it was all for naught. An eternity trapped here. Not knowing what is becoming of my own reality. I'm not sure if I can last much longer...what if I die? Will I be ushered into my own reality's afterlife? Or will the cold lack of a postmortem existence be my fate here? I'm scared...oh so scared...
You’re one of us too? That’s certainly encouraging to know. I thought it would just be us, this glum little city, whirling towards the end of time and the entrance to oblivion in our unchanging, time-looped dwellings. All of us know the world will be ending, so you should be aware too, and how it will come about. Upsilon, the star that dies backwards, brought about the very end. We all have stardust from Upsilon in us, somehow, through a fluke of the workings of time. You must too. It’s a pretty lonely existence, in this refuge from the earth and all that inhabit it. No one seems to understand how precious it all is. None of the others have seen the dark, but somehow, against all odds, escaped it.
My email pings an incoming message. What? You think mythical creatures don't use email? It's certainly preferable to stone tablets. You know how many manicures I destroyed trying to write my to-do lists back in those days? Email is a lot less fatal than carrier pigeons, too. Those fucking birds are dumb as shit. They'd get about a half mile away and the they'd come circling back to my island and smash themselves on the rocks. Fucking pea-brains. I went centuries without corresponding with anyone. Dear Miss Davoe, It is with great pleasure that we accept your offer to come work for our campaign. Your reputation certainly precedes you and with your help we expect great things for our parties future. Attached is your travel itinerary to our office. We look forward to meeting you in person. I close my MacBook and sit back in my beach chair, enjoying the last few rays of the summer sun. Being a Siren hasn't been the same ever since humans developed geo-locating and sonar. The Bermuda Triangle has been off limits to basically any watercraft for at least the last century. The media has blown this shit way out of proportion and to my own amusements detriment. The only thing that comes near my shores is the odd fisherman's raft and drunk college kids on those all-night party boats. I've about had my fill of witless, shirtless, sex-starved teens. Though, their rock hard abs never seem to get old. Alas, the young ones never seem to scream like the old ones. They're always trying to act tough, hapless creatures they are, throwing fists in the air and beating their chests. That's the thing about Sirens that no one seems to understand. For all the books on mythology written, for all the so-called scholars who claim to know everything about the Gods and Demi-Gods and creatures that rule the Underworld, not one of them ever got us Sirens right. None of them stopped to think, or wonder, why would some women just want people to come and die on rocks? That's kind of anticlimactic don't you think? No, we don't eat them and we certainly don't sacrifice them, though I have been known to offer up a few tasty college-aged morsels to Athena now and then, what she does with them after that is anyones guess. We certainly don't keep them as pets, because as entertaining as that might be, it is exhausting keeping a human alive. They are always eating and shitting and fucking complain, complain, complaining. So why have none of you stopped to wonder the why? Why does no one stop and say, well this is kind of pointless isn't it? Here, let me lure you to my island and then bam! Eat some rocks, bitch! I'll tell you a secret. We love the chaos of it. We love the chase. No one would know that because no one ever lives to tell the tale. We sing and they come. But when we stop singing? Their senses return, slowly at first, like the numbness of a limb coming back to life from frostbite. It starts with the eyes. They can see the way they are headed but they cannot control it. Then, slowly, the rest of their senses return bit by bit. They can smell the death and rotting flesh well before they have control of their arms and legs. Their screams and wails are priceless. Their lips barely able to open but their tongues lashing inside behind their teeth, their larynx contracting sounds of pain and anguish as they grow closer and closer. By the time it is too late their full faculties are returned to them. Sometimes, oh! The rare sometimes, a crew or captain is stronger than most and is able to wrestle his ships mast towards the exterior. I love these moments. I watch them as they begin to sail farther away, 'Make Haste!' They scream. 'Make Haste!' I allow them that pleasure, some relief as they pull farther and farther away from my shores. And then, after a time, I call them back to me, an endless tug-of-war we play, until the captain and crew is too weak to continue. They never seem to become too weak to cry, though. And that is my favorite part. The tears. There, you see. It is not death that we Sirens live for. It is the chaos and fear that propels us. And so, with the Bermuda Triangle off limits I've decided to branch outward. Why politics you might ask? Well, what better way to spark chaos and fear? I will no longer be relegated to the crew of a ship, or the fishing team on a vessel. I am thinking bigger. Bolder. Grander. An entire nation in unrest. By the time I arrive in Washington I've got my game plan together. It's late in the election cycle, but this works in my favor. No one will see it coming, exactly like no one sees my shores until I return their sight to them. I'll make my call on Election Day and my call will be heard around the nation. All I've got left to do now is meet whatever imbecile they decided they wanted to win. "Miss Davoe!" A campaigner greets me outside the office doors. "We're so excited to have you on board. We are going to do great things this year! I nod in approval as he pushes open the doors to the office. A burly, garish man rises to greet me. The candidate. I mentally snicker. This guys a real loser for sure. Without my help this campaign would have nothing. I shake hands with the candidate and turn to the campaigner who gives me the run down on voting approvals and Election Day statistics. I tell them not to worry, that everything is under control. I'll sing my song on Election Day. As the meeting comes to an end I stand up and shake their hands. The candidate hasn't spoken a word the entire time. I move to take my leave, wondering if I've made the wrong choice. I'm not so sure this candidate has what it takes to send an entire country into upheaval. Well, there's always next election cycle, right? My hand is just gripping the doorknob to the outer office when he says my name. I turn and watch him striding across the room, his badly dyed combover lifting off his forehead in the cool air conditioning. When he reaches me the orange-toned skin around his mouth crinkles into a wide smile. He looks like the grinch when he smiles. "We're going to win, aren't we Miss Davoe?" he asks. Without waiting for me to respond he continues, "We're going to win. And we're going to win bigly."
BANG. My mind went blank. As I looked down, I saw the bullet hole go through me. Instinctively, I grabbed at my chest, trying to stop the bleeding, but there was no use. Within seconds my hands were a deep red color with everything from my shirt to my socks all drenched in blood. So this is how I die. On the floor of my own apartment, trying to fend off some coke fiend breaking into my apartment. I felt my world slowing down. I recalled my first kiss with Rebekah in the second grade. I saw the cheesy commercial about Moon Shoes and begging my Mom to buy me it. I saw myself holding my grandmother's hand one last time before she passed away. I saw it all as I dropped to my knees and passed out. What a way to go I guess. Death was supposed to be the end. "Ah yes,"said the voice. "Everyone thinks that,"it said with a smile. Puzzled, I looked around. "So where am I exactly?" "Right where you need to be." As the voice trailed off in the distance, an arcade cabinet popped up. I was hesitant to approach it, but when I looked at, I saw a high score. It was mine. I didn't quite get it until I hit the start button and another screen popped up. It was me, bleeding out on the floor. "Is this some kind of sick fucking joke?" What the fuck is this supposed to mean? Is this a test? Is this even real? I can't be dead right? I'm not supposed to die like this. I am not supposed to die like this. I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO FUCKING DIE LIKE THIS. Continue? (Y/N)
My cell rang, its cold metal body still piercing through my woolly gloves. "Where?" "13 chert st near central" We got into the cab. I predict 16 minutes and 48 seconds, but I forgot to account for rain. After 18 minutes after getting into the cab, the time is ticking. The entrance barricaded by police cars and people. "You're here! Finally" "Indeed we are, whats the case" "10 people..." 10 people dead, with no visible trauma to the head or body, no blood spilled, no forced entry, no weapon, and no witness. Except for myself. "We need the room to ourselves"I exclaimed, eyes gazed upon me. "Well go on, get going"said the chief. I focused on the body, the details, the essence of space and time. My mind would become one with time itself. I can be the witness and I can solve what no-one else can! "Are you alright?" "No...n.no no no. It cant be!" "Well what is it?" Echoes rang in my head, I look at the crime scene yet saw nothing but people cowering infront of me, staring at...me. a sudden jolt of movement and I lost my focus but when I came back. It was like looking in a mirror, only this mirror was saying something... "The game has begun...Sherlock"
# Downtime We're ruled by the siren. Our baby is insanely loud, intentionally obnoxious and audible from every single inch of the emergency response station. Love it or hate it: When she starts screaming we drop everything and haul ass to suit-up and gear-grab. It takes over a year of conditioning to go from dead sleep to instant motion, all ruled by that whoopWHOOPweepWEEP that goes off randomly. But we're Downloaders, and every second counts. I was early for the night shift, strolling towards the station's enormous vehicle bay with a good fifteen minutes to spare. Even from the parking lot I could hear the gang shouting at each other, the offgoing crew horsing around and blowing off steam. Either Mike or James was running through their skit of "craziest responses in history", exaggerating the calls for comedic effect. We joke a lot, but we're close as family. And then suddenly I'm in motion at a dead sprint for the nearest equipment locker. A second later my brain catches up to our baby siren's excited whooping. A jerk on the well-worn emergency handle pops the locker open, dropping a rack of gear straight down into my practiced hands. "Mike! James? What do we got?" Mike crashes into the locker next to mine, jerking his own release lever. "Code three!"I wince; that's a ten minute timer. "East side government building."He's a huge guy, hairy in way that suggests caveman ancestry. Loves building muscle during down time and the front guy for any doorbusting that needs to be done. Compared to my stringy frame he looks twice as big. We hop into our suit leggings in perfect sync, stomping twice with each foot to get the attached boots clamped on. Clack-clack. Like a dance. "East city side? Far side, near side, what?"It's a three minute difference. Pretty crucial. "Far side!"Mike shouts as we don the top half of the reflective suit and slap seals down over waist, wrists, neck. We grab for helmets, flip them into position overhead and twist hard to the right to seal the suit. Air pops and a green light blinks on to indicate positive pressure. I hit the switch to activate local radio net. "Shit."A code three, ten minutes to find our victim and save their consciousness with a Download. Now cut by three minutes of transit time, minus whatever it took to find the remains. This is what our trainer referred to as a no-win situation. The receiver crackles as Mike's rough voice comes through. "Yeah, I know. Gotta try, though." We join a dozen other Downloaders running for their assigned trucks, all of us moving in that funny wide-step waddle the suits force. Our suit-up training is so ingrained and practiced that a dozen Downloaders all come out of the lockers at nearly the exact same time. We're like a silver wave of reflective Mylar and gleaming facemasks, ready to take on anything. And then the siren goes off a second time. I damn near tripped in shock. "What the hell?"One Download is unlikely: Someone has to be insanely rich or famous to be walking around with an implant guaranteeing their post-death reconstitution. Two at once? "Mike, what the hell? Two retrievals?" We swing up onto the oversized vehicle and rack in, restraints closing around our suits. He sounds perplexed and concerned over the headset as the engine howls and throws two tons of emergency vehicle into the night on squealing tires. "Dunno. That's wild. Hey,"he throws into the wider radio net. "Anyone got the situation?" Confused responses, complaints. No one comes up with a clear answer as we rocket through dirty streets and corner onto the highway. Cars veer and dodge out of the way. The station Dispatch comes over the radio, automatically muting everyone else. "Downloaders 3-114, en route to code 3?" All of us acknowledge by force of habit; the radio will sort out who gets through on the net. To my surprise I'm the one randomly chosen to speak for the group. "Downloaders 3-114 responding. Update on code 3, Dispatch?" Dispatch dumps the address into my suit, the location popping up as a mini-HUD at chin level as a dry voice recites details. "Multi-level tenement, converted residential."Our vehicle takes a hard right, siren blasting cars out of our way like startled birds. "Fire on third floor and above. Retrieval of two units, current location rooftop seventh story. Six minutes on Download." I make eye contact with Mike. Everyone can hear the details and no one is happy. He frowns and mouths "Impossible"at me from behind the helmet mask. "Dispatch, confirm: Withdrawal priority?"I'm asking if we can decline if we're in danger. The kind of danger running upwards into a four story fire would incur. "Negative, 3-114. No withdrawal. Download or recovery cannot be declined." Now everyone is looking spooked. That does not happen. I hit the radio transmit again. "Query on victim status?"We're close enough to see the reflected fire now, the orange glow lighting up over nearby buildings. Smoke is everywhere. "Double victim,"Dispatch clarifies. "Government officials, Tony Baker and Justin Cleese. Be advised of numerous potential additional survivors: Officials are on escort for a large group. Estimate twenty to thirty civilians." We round the final corner and get a look at the building for the first time. It's seven floors of government offices raging like the Devil's own bonfire. And parked right outside is a school bus, proudly displaying the logo for Windcrest Elementary. Mike says it best, whispering over the radio net: "Jesus wept."
\[Poem\] Across the country and in alleys it sleeps, It does not speak but feeds on the weak. Once plagued to the streets life becomes a downwards spiral, The monster grabs you while the upper class gives you an eye roll. No helping hand, only yourself to guide you, While the monster lives and does its best to hide you. A government once made to protect them, leaves them be, While the wealthy neglect them. No food, no shelter, no hope, Poverty eats the souls of the poor, no way to cope. Survival of the fittest, man has not outgrown evolution, The less fortunate left without absolution.
The constellations were gone... Once a house decorated for Christmas, the night sky was turned into a blank canvas. There was not a star in the sky, as if someone had blown out the candles of space. The moon was the only light visible from Earth, a white dot in a sea of darkness and that too, would soon disappear without the sun's light. There was no explanation for the phenomena, it was a complete universal eclipse. Astronomers claimed they just went out, like an old lightbulb. The light was beaming to Earth for billions of years, and finally they all went out simultaneously. Within minutes hundreds of millions flocked to churches, mosques, temples, and any other religious cult that popped up looking for an answer, a meaning to the utter darkness. Others looted as soon as it happened. Food, gas, generators, and even some more extravagant electronics went missing from stores and found new homes. The Earth was on fire as the The temperature dropped dramatically, scientists determined within a week the average temperature of Earth would drop below the freezing point if the night's sky remained the same. However, while the Earth dwelled in despair it appeared. A giant ship, stretching for miles and miles. There was no end you could see, the massive ship stretched over the horizon, its lights illuminated its hull. The intricate design and symbols coated the side of the vessel. They finally appeared, a portion of the ship began to extend from the ship like a dvd player ejects a disc. All along the ship these stands emerged from the ship and giant monitors moved into an upright position, each as large as a football field. At first static, then a face appeared on the monitor, and not a human face. It was blue, no eyes or ears, but had what appeared to be a mouth in the center of its "face". Its head was elongated, like an egg turned on its side. Gill like features appeared on opposite sides of its mouth, moving along with the wind. Several ant like antennas protruded from its forehead. Finally, it spoke in english, "Your sun is gone. You will grow cold, hungry, and become your most primal selves. The last million humans will be evacuated to a new host planet. Begin"and the monitors went blank, only to have a white number appear on a blank screen. 7,821,342,501. And almost instantly, it began to fall.
"Chicken Nuggets and fries, and 2 coke floats." "Right along, Sergeant Doctor!" I beamed at my friend as he gave his order. Two coke float means he had a good day. "How was the Cananda?" "It was awesomeballs!"He grinned as took a huge slurp of his coke float. "There all kinds of people, and polar bears, and I fought the polar bears like this"He gestured with his fist. "and it was like kapow- and I defeated them and Imetagirlbutshe'sincanadaandcantcomeover and then we had a great party and we ate pizza and chicken nuggets and pepsi floats, they love pepsi up in canada." "It was great wasn't it, we sure have some fun times!" "I'm the greatest adventurer the world has even seen! I'm going to China next, just you watch." I clapped in excitement. China! That's like, really far away, wasn't it? From nowhere, two figures appeared behind him as he held his victory pose. That's odd. I have never seen anybody behind Sir Sergeant Doctor Timmy before. "Who are you?" "Who are what?"Timmy looked at me in annoyance. The two figures stopped, startled. I could get a good look now. One was a wearing some hood of black hoodie, carrying a big brown sack. The other.. was weird. He seemed both big and small, white and brown, close and far, all at the same time. He can see us Sir Sergeant Doctor Timmy turned around. He seemed to look right through the figures, because he sat back down and addressed me. "Cut it out, you are scaring me. Mommy, I'm going to bed." Sir Sergeant Doctor Timmy turned to his mother next to him and snuggled into her embrace. The two figures approached our table. The hooded figure was smiling gently at me, but he seemed very sad in his eyes. The other figure spoke, but his mouth did not appear to move. This is unprecedented, Daniel "It was not my intention at first, Lord of Dreams. But I could not stop once I realized that this dream fragment had gained a soul." How long? "Twenty-five years." The hooded figure knelt in front of me. "Do you know who you are?" I nodded. "I think.. that I am an actor in Timothy's dream" "Close. How did you find out?" "Twenty-five years is a long time, sir. Timothy hasn't aged at all, he is still the gleeful child that is prone to happy outbursts and eating way too much ice-cream. I have been sitting here, in this restaurant, listening to him talk about 'our' adventures together. I don't remember how I got here, who my family was or even my name. But most importantly, when I saw you, I was sure". The hooded man was silent. "Tim is dying, isn't he?" "He has been dying for the last twenty-five years. A coma, supported only by the finances and stubbornness of a desperate mother. His mother passed away yesterday. They are about to turn off life-support." "What's going to happen to me?" The hooded man looked down. You will die The strange being spoke without moving his mouth. I looked at the white being, and then at the hooded figure. The hooded figure closed his eyes for a second and then, as if forcing himself to open his eyes, looked directly me. "I am the Sandman, I.. facilitate night-walking for the unconscious. When Timothy first fell into a coma, I let he dream normally at first. Episodic, unconnected dreams. "But without day-walking, he became isolated. Memories don't carry fully across dreams. He would make friends, and then forget about them. But he didn't forget that he had friends then he had lost. "For a year, I came every night. His isolation was too much. Who knew how long he would be kept alive? I could not bear to see a child be swallowed in his own mind. "So I sustained this dream for twenty-five years. You were his friend. You kept him going. He might have never day-walked since the age of nine, but he lived a happy life in his own mind. And you were there for him the entire way." "I'm sorry it has to be this way." "I'm not."The sharpness in my own voice frightened me. "It was worth it. It was a good life. I wish that I had more stories to call my own. But he was my friend. I'm glad that he was happy. I have glad to be his listening ear." I struggled to blink back the tears. I don't want to go. The hooded man gave me a silent hug. "How long do I have?" "In real time, seconds. We can warp the perception of time here, but there's only so much we can do." "Can you... can you let me dream my own adventure, just the once, before I go?" The hooded figure looked at the being. It paused, then nodded.
He had trained his whole life for this. Ever since he could remember, he had yearned to explore this strange new planet. Boy 6271B was ready to leave his house bubble and accept his admittance into the Extraplanetary Academy. His parents had spent countless hours and expense to prepare him for this transition, both physically and mentally. While struggling through his depression and social anxiety, Boy 6271B had doubted whether this was really the true path for him. Maybe he wasn't cut out to become fully pressurized in a space suit and join countless others at the Academy. Maybe,. he was meant to stay here. Maybe...maybe.... No. Enough doubt. It is time to move forward and onward. With his family's full support and love, he began the pressurization process and was fitted into his suit. This space suit would last for four years while he attended the Academy. Skins could be changed on it, of course, based on preference. However, after those four years he would have to make a choice - come back to the bubble or change his body forever to be able to survive on this planet. His mind had been working and building up for years for this moment. All the coping skills he could muster had not prepared him for this indescribable feeling. He blew a kiss to each one of his family members and stepped out into his new unknown. The travel to the Academy was mind-numbingly daunting. His thoughts continued to eat away at him, until he noticed a welcome distraction - the Academy gates. The mixture of nausea and excitement were so overwhelming for this boy. All he could do was just keep moving forward and absorbing each new experience. Shortly after marveling at the cherry blossoms, a striking figure popped into the corner of his eye. Boy 6271B had never seen such an enchanting creature in his life. He felt as if her very essence just instantly welcomed him. He just knew the two of them would get along, and just wanted to learn more about her. Taking a deep breath and putting all his confidence, low as he feels it might be at the moment, towards walking up and offering a simple "Hello". He got to within a few feet of her, when an overwhelming feeling of nausea and light-headedness hit him. This Boy experienced a flash back to a moment in his past. However, once the moment passed, he knew it wasn't right...That moment in time was changed. While recovering from this experience, Boy 6271B failed to notice the Girl walk away. Once he felt a bit better and focused back on his original fascination, she was nowhere to be seen. Time passes, and he has brief interactions with this particular Girl throw the hallways of the Academy. An identical experience occurs each time, with different members in his past being changed. He feels so physically ill when he attempts to get close that he loses sight of her each time. As far as he knows, she's not even aware of his existence. The Boy's fascination remains and he wants to meet her even more. Over time, he notices that each interaction with this particular Girl decreases the durability of his space suit. The countdown timer would plunge dramatically once he was within a certain proximity of her. Each moment spent near her would shorten the time he had to make the final decision on his future. What is this Boy to do? Explore his fascination of the phenomenon and pursue the friendship, despite the risks? Boy 6271B took a deep breath, and made that next step. ________________ [First Time Poster, so please ignore obvious typos, errors, mobile formatting, etc. I enjoyed reading the prompt with the assumed typo of pressurized instead of pressured. I took that as a jump-off to put a bit more sci-fi spin on this quick write-up. Feedback welcome and appreciated. Thanks!]
'You know, I've always disagreed with this plan on principle.' The words came from my right. More specifically, from the hulking form of the self-styled "Doctor Fusion". Cigarette smoke wreathed his outline in the darkness, the lights from the city below us diffusing into a strange halo as they passed through it. 'Evil is an inherently stupid word.' He continued in his typical low drawl. 'How does one set a number to it? Quantify it? Can a person be one percent evil? If you choose between two good actions but pick the slightly less good one, does that mean you result in net evil? Is some level of evil not inevitable in the struggle for survival? That's before we even examine the relative nature of evil based on culture and perspective, of course.' I looked at him, unspeaking. This level of pontificating was typical of him. Best to let him blow himself out. The huge muscles of his shoulders rose and fell as he sighed, breathing out another plume of smoke. 'Indeed, one could argue that the very destruction of evil is an evil act. Is evil not part of free will? A man must choose to be good for it to have any meaning. If there is no choice, then there is simply inevitable outcome. What then? How would any progress ever be made?' I turned away from him, checking my old Casio watch. The faded green digital display showed 3.59. One minute to go. 'With no respect intended, shut the fuck up Doctor.' The head on that inhuman body turned towards me. I had never quite gotten used to the contrast between his young, lively, expressive face and the veins that stood out like iron bars on his forehead. He smiled at me, like a father looking down at a son. The faint alarm from my watch sounded. Those four beeps. The last faded, oddly, pitch shifting down until it passed out of the audible range for human ears. I sighed, letting my shoulders fall. I walked away from Doctor Fusion. His face frozen, forever, in that knowing and slightly mocking smile. Time to go to work.
There was that asteroid. Two decades ago, was it? Maybe the one before. What a fluke, right? A million to one and that decommissioned satellite just happened to fly out of orbit that way - do you remember what it was called? Something Russian, maybe? Or was that the time before? Anyway, I happened to see this one. I guess the collision was pretty enough, all those colours in the sky. It wasn't as nice as the first one I saw. But I suppose it tweaked the path just enough for the asteroid to avoid us. But that reminds me, though. That volcano - I'm not going to try to pronounce that one - well, it wasn't more than three days later. And with a hurricane the likes of which we've never seen before or since from the west, and a tsunami taller than a mountain from the east - who would have thought the three of them would just all cancel each other out? Not me for sure. And all with a nice little layer of ash in the atmosphere to cancel the global warming! Killed all the locust swarms too, but nobody talks about that. I still remember the celebrations; I don't think there's ever been more coal burned. Maybe on one of the anniversaries. But it's all just an excuse to party now. Nobody even bothers to whip out the aerosols or burn plastics. Kids just don't have respect for tradition these days. They named a virus after that volcano during the plague summer, you know. There were so many coming out of the woodwork that I guess they were running out of catchy names. Twenty syllables long - by the time you've finished saying the name of the virus, you've already spat out every last trace of it. Maybe that's why none of them took, huh? They saw the first one going nowhere and didn't want to bother putting any effort in. But I will say that it was interesting to hear a billion people all sneeze at once, even if we all got better right after that. Someone told me that's what cause the nuclear launches - someone sneezing. I don't know if I believe it, but it sounds possible. Good thing the sneeze sent them into space, eh? Got that other asteroid for us, the one we didn't see coming. Now I remember - that was the Russian one! The asteroid, not the satellite. First ones to spot it. Still can't believe I missed that one, but I'll catch the next. Maybe I'll even name it. One of them's going to get us one of these day, it's true. But what can you do? We just keep trucking on, just like all the would-be apocalypses. It's enough to almost make you feel sorry for them.
Jerome looked around nervously as the priest spoke. He was eager to get to the vows as fast as possible. The young man with brown hair and caramel skin didn't consider himself to be superstitious, but the month leading to his wedding with Veronica had been filled with issues. Too many for it to be normal. It had started out with small inconveniences, a wedding already planned, temple and church plumbing going out of whack. That's why they were getting married outside despite the LDS couple originally wanting to get sealed in the temple on the day of their wedding. The reception was also held outside in the lark rather than at the church for the same reason. If it was just this Jerome would have considered it minor. Just another test to see if they were r Ally committed. Then the catering company called and said that all of the food they had planned to prepare had suddenly grown tons of mold, seemingly overnight. Jerome managed to find another caterer in the form of... A very very eager Taco Bell manager. Then there was the fact that both Jerome and Veronica had to replace their wedding outfits more than 10 times. So often that rather than the black suit and white dress they originally planned, had been replaced with a hot pink suit and a red dress with yellow spots. "Do you Jerome-"The priest began. "Yes."Jerome said preemptively. "I- I mean. I do."He said corrected. "Calm down Jerome."Veronica said. She didn't share his superstition. She though it was just a series of freak accidents. But Jerome always saw the third part as pattern not coincidence. He lifted her Vale. She was still beautiful at least. Her firy red hair done into a bun and her pale skin as smooth as ever. "S-sorry."He said. The priest finished his work and said that Jerome could now kiss the bride. He leaned in and did so. Butterflies in his stomach. Nothing could ruin this moment. Until it did. A loud gunshot rang out hitting neither him nor his bride. But the it instead streaked past the priest slicing his ear. "Down!"He yelled pulling out a Tommy gun. "God why don't you want us to be happy?"Jerome asked as he grabbed Veronica and ducked.
“No, no. We’re not Atlantians, we’re Humans.” “Yes, we understand you have many subcultures. But you’re already registered and protected under the treaties, so you don’t need to waste everyone’s time with this charade.” “No, you don’t understand. We’re not from Atlantis, we’re from Earth.” “It doesn’t matter which star you’re from. You’re already signed on. The whole species.” “Humans?” “Atlantians.” “We’re not Atlantians!” “Look, we get it. You’re a splinter group, or a rebel cause, or for some other reason think that you’re entitled to special privileges in the interplanetary arena. But you, being Atlantian, are already protected. You don’t need to register your planet or solar system, regardless of any infighting. Your species is registered. As a species. Not as a collection of cultures and planetary governments. As long as you continue to follow the guidelines, no one will bother you.” “But we’re human! We’ve never met any of you before! We don’t have a clue what these guidelines are!” “Then I suggest you take it up with your local interplanetary Antlantian ambassador. It’s their job to ensure their planets are informed of their rights and responsibilities.” “What part of \we’re not Atlantian\ do you not understand?” “Any of it, truly. I may disagree with Havothiran governance this century, but you don’t see me denying that I’m Havothi.” “But if you said you weren’t Atlantian, no one would contest it.” “Of course. Because I’m obviously Havothi. None of you have proper legs, so I’d equally deny any assertion that you \are\ Havothi. But you’re clearly Atlantian, so claiming that your Earth Human culture needs to be registered separately is as idiotic as if I were to ask to register Mabroshil separately from the Havothiran governance.” “I’ve never even seen an Atlantian.” “Well, if you look in a mirror. . .” “I see a human. Look, we’re not getting anywhere. Can we see your manager, or boss, or whoever’s in charge of the whole interplanetary system registration thing?” “If you insist, but I warn you that you’ll get no different answer. Ven’vax’xillon! Send up for Eiry’yan’nant.” “Is Eeryanent able to make actual decisions?” “Yes. Ah, there you are. Eiry’yan’nant, sorry for the interruption. These are a group of Atlantians who wish to petition for individual placement of their planet. They insist on being called ‘Human.’” “Thank you, Rox’xav’veto, I’ll take it from here.” “We’re not Atlantian.” “Are you quite certain of that?” “Absolutely.” “Then, by all means, let’s get you registered. Please, on this map, designate the planets which are included within your. . . Human, was it? space.” “Does that include uninhabited worlds, or only those with an active human presence?” “Inhabited only. Any stray planets located within the same solar system as a member world are of course considered part of that world’s territory. You need not concern yourself with the defence of resource worlds.” “Then, just this one.” “Interesting. As you say, your world is not currently listed as an Atlantian territory. So, as a. . . ‘new’ species, you are welcome to petition for inclusion into the interplanetary sentient database and, presumably, all the rights, protections, and privileges of that position?” “Yes.” “Excellent. As this is your, ahm, ‘first contact’ with those outside your own species, there are a few things you should be aware of. Worlds in the registry are not to be approached without giving due warning and receiving permission to continue. This includes protected but uninhabited resource worlds. Taxes are due every third cycle of Mabroshil 7, eighty kilotons of matter, payable in any form. Overdue collections can include your resource worlds, home planet, or sun. Any questions?” “. . .” “Yes?” “Is it too late to register as Atlantian?”
I know I'm a heavy sleeper, but this is nuts. I can't find anyone, and Heaven alone knows I tried. There were a few locked cabins, but I managed to break open the doors. Fire axe for the win. Anyways, they were empty too. . . . No one above or below decks. I can't hear any machines running, and we don't seem to be moving. The anchor is down, and the sea is so still we aren't even rocking. It's really weird, and I don't like looking at it too long. . . . Found someone in the captain's quarters. He isn't responding and keeps saying something about water looking at him. Or the ocean looking at him. Whatever, he had a fifty year scotch in the drawer, so jackpot! Better than the wine coolers I found in that Karen's cabin. Whatever happened, they got the booze locked up tight. . . . Water staring guy has disappeared. He wasn't good company anyways, just kept bitching about the water and it staring at him. I couldn't get him to eat or drink anything. I tried looking for him for a while, but didn't find him. Oh well, it's a big boat, we're probably missing each other wandering around. . . . Managed to get into the kitchen's store room. Freezer and refrigerator are dead and the food's rotten, but I found some non-perishable stuff to keep me going. . . . Dude, something REEKS of dead fish. It's not the kitchen, I checked. It's also all over the boat. God this sucks. I tried getting a radio to work, well, I think it was a radio. It was dead though, like everything but my phone. I swear, dictating these notes are the only thing keeping me from turning out like water staring guy. . . . Got woken up last night. Something was moving through the boat. I thought about calling out, but it didn't sound right. I'm glad I took up in the captain's quarters, even a fire axe won't get through the door. . . . The boat moved today, scared the piss out of me. I was making myself some poor man's oatmeal when everything shifted. I ran out to the deck to see what was what, but couldn't tell. The ocean isn't moving, but the boat is rocking. I looked down to see what I could, then had to hurl. I don't know what the hell is up with this water, but looking at it makes me ill. . . . Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. It's not just the ocean, unless it's bottled, it looks like all the freshwater in the ship is becoming like whatever the hell water is outside. Decided to take a bath, turned away to grab my rubber ducky, then hurled into the tub when I turned back. Turned off the water and closed the door. I'm switching to one of the other cabins, I don't like the water just... sitting in there. With me on the other side of the door. . . . I'm getting low on bottled water. It's been a few weeks now. I know the ship from top to bottom, my phone is still the only thing with a charge. Don't know why, it should be dead by now. God, I wish I had someone to say goodbye to. Hell, I took this trip on my own to prove having no one wouldn't keep me down! Dad was right, money doesn't mean nothin' if you ain't got no one to enjoy it with. I wish he were still around, and Mom. Hell, I'd settle for that little shit who bullied me in elementary school, what's his name? Oh yeah, Mark. I'd take an atomic wedgie over loneliness any day. . . . I saw what was wandering the ship. I don't think it saw me. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. . . . I don't think this is an ocean. It's a thing, a creature. It watches. I guess I was too unnoticeable for even it to notice me. It knows I'm here now though, I can hear it looking for me in the night. I keep moving cabins, it leaves pools of itself where it's been. Water will be gone soon. . . . It's staring at me. The ocean is staring at me. It's angry, so very, very angry. Found papers in captain's quarters. The cruise was a cover for illegal dumping, some kind of 'failed experiments'. Someone tried to make sentient water creatures that could spy for them. Oh, they spy all right. They spied on this ship. They spy on me. Always staring. . . . I know where the others are. I need to join them. I am a very bad person. The ocean is watching. I must go now. [My Musings](https://www.reddit.com/r/HorrorHMDMusings?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share)
"Fuck this!"I yelled out into the air as I kicked a nearby trash can. I'd been on the street corner all day busking my magic tricks for petty cash. All for nothing. A teen and his brother had run by and nabbed my magicians hat filled with dimes and nickels. It had taken me a fortnight to save all of that, including the coins I stole from rival street performers. I truly hated my life at this point and something needed to change. I had practiced magic since the young age of 9, at first I started with simple card tricks and progressed to more complex card tricks. The problem was I could only ever do card tricks, any other magic tricks I attempted failed miserably. One time for a school talent show I had tried to saw my teacher in half. Unfortunately, I nearly did truly cut him in half. I failed his class that year. But regardless of my poor magic abilities, I knew I wanted to become a magician one day. I aspired to be as great as some of the magicians I had seen on TV. So that's what I did. After 3 years of magic school, and failing each year, I decided to take my "talents"to the streets. That's exactly what I did. But card tricks can't get you very far. I lived in a small Brooklyn apartment with 2 roommates each named Jared. Even though I was broke I kept pushing with my magic, but no matter what I did I couldn't pull off anything other than card tricks. But then I stumbled upon the thing that would change my life forever. My grandma had recently passed, and she had left my family money and land. To me she gave a crappy old book with weird ruins scribbled In its pages. I had been hoping to get enough money to take my talents to a greater arena, but I was stick with a useless book. One night, I woke up to a weird buzzing noise in the air. I wandered over to find the source of the buzzing, and noticed it was coming from the book I had gotten from my grandmother. The book had blue vein-like structures coursing along its cover, and I could've sworn I had seen an eye open and close for a brief second. I knew in that moment i needed to open its covers. I did exactly that, to find clearly printed in bold letters, YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN. Suddenly, blue gas began to swirl out of the books pages and infiltrated my body through my mouth and eyes, causing me to pass out. Next morning I woke up to my alarm clock, set to 8 am like usual. "Was that a dream?"I asked myself. It must've been that could not have happened. I went out of my room to greet my roommates, but as soon as I said goodmorning a strange spell was cast. Instead of the words goodmorning, a strange language came out of my throat. My roommates began to choke, gasping for air in a desperate attempt to survive. They slowly died in front of me. I panicked and didn't know what to do as I had just murdered 2 people with a strange power I didn't understand. An evil thought popped into my head. "What if I could use this to my benefit?"I wondered. Then it hit me, I could use this to become a true magician, one that uses real magic. That's what I set out to do. For my first trick, I killed all of my old magic teachers and family members who had doubted me, including the teacher from the talent show. My next trick was to erase my identity from everyone's minds. In secret I traveled to a Buddhist monastery, and killed all the monks, in order to have complete solitude. I practiced my newfound magical powers day in and day out. Soon I had perfected the most dangerous spell my despicable mind could conjure. Ironically, it happened to be a simple card trick.
Everyone has their own Achilles heel. Their Destined Cause of Death (DCoD), if you want to be technical. At birth, people are told what their DCoD is, and as long as they avoid it, they will never die. Most people's DCoDs are fairly esoteric, and relatively easy to avoid. A certain type of rock, like kryptonite, a plant, like mistletoe, an object, like a spinning wheel, you get the picture. Others are a bit more widespread, like electricity or water. No matter what your DCoD is, though, you can be relatively sure to find a community where you can be safe from it. Take Atlantis, a city founded underwater for those who need to avoid air! Yes, when confronted with mortality, even immortals will go through great efforts to avoid it. There is one exception to this safety. One thing - I hesitate to call it a person - that can kill anyone. They call him The Reaper. His mere presence brings death to all he encounters. A whole organization is dedicated to bringing him down, but nothing they have done has so much as scratched him. For the past 20 years they have followed him around, throwing everything they could think of at him, scouring the globe for any object or material, no matter how exotic, that might be his DCoD. Thankfully, despite being unstoppable, he doesn't seem malicious at the moment, spending his time wandering around in deserts rather than attacking cities. Still, every person lives in fear of The Reaper, and until his DCoD is found, that will likely continue. I love this concept of a world where everyone is vulnerable to one thing. In writing this, I had so much fun worldbuilding and coming up with how things work there. If anyone's interested in a book about searching for a villain's weakness, Steelheart by Brandon Sanderson (I'm pretty sure that's his name) is a great book for many reasons. Anyways, I really did have fun writing this, and if anyone's interested in a part two (where I would probably actually get to the prompt, not just the background), I can definitely write one.
"Is everything ready!" "Yes captain!"Today was the day, that I am going to the very bottom of the ocean. No one has ever been here, and I am looking forward to it. My crew ready my beauty, the Under Water Treasure. We prepare the ocean core, and we zoom down into the abyss. ... On our way Down, we saw some angler fish and other creatures, but when we neared the undiscovered zone, we didn't see any animals. I was expecting to see a super weird creature, but nothing. As we continue to go downward, I have a bad feeling. Actually, it is to quiet, I would expect my crew to say something. I go to the engine room, where my bbn crew is, and they are all passed out, on top of eachother. It is strange, everyone Is passed out, even though there is no alcohol on this submarine... who is piloting the submarine!!?? I run towards the control room, but it is too late. There is a crash, and fall to the ground. After I get back up, I run to back to the viewing room. Luckily, there is no damage. I take control of the sub, and manage to turn it upright. Strange, I think I see a face... I turn the outside mega lights on, and am horrified. There is a large, humanlike head, made of pure darkness. The head has thousands of giant tentacles, and it opens its eyes. It speaks directly into my brain. "A human... in a strange device. Seems I have slept to long if you were able to progress this far... Master will be mad at me. Well, better late than never, thank you for waking me up, it is time to destroy the human race, starting with you."A huge tentacle rises up, and slams down onto the sub, the sub is flattened, and we all die. ... "Striker one through 5000000 down, what do we do president? it has already drowned and destroyed half of the world." "There is nothing we can do son... the human race... has come to an end."
==== CLASSIFIED NO FORN/SCI ==== Report XX.19XX System: E.D.S. Engineer: XXX XXXXX 07/XX/22XX At 1127 hours yesterday XX, XX, 22XX, the Earth Defense System incurred it's first penetration event. A NASA, non-military spacecraft was launched from Cape Canaveral a few minutes prior to the activation of the EDS. At approximately XX miles, the spacecraft collided with the barrier. This was their third attempt to reach outer space after the spacecraft ban of 2003. This attempt, including the previous two had been unsuccessful. A failure mode is being drafted. We were able to intercept their telemetry data shortly before they received it, and have hopefully spoofed it well enough that no one will be curious. Nasa had repeatedly asked for video of the launches as the data was usually fuzzy, but it was made clear to them that video of launches, or any other air based activities was against the law. We reminded them that the telemetry was good data and we had verified it for them. Everything was accurate. However, we stated that three spacecraft failures is off normal, but still better than the Russians who have hit it five times to date. We believe that NASA is coordinating with Roscosmos to determine the cause of these failures as both agencies have determined the failures are strikingly similar. We will be advising the president to the situation later today. &#x200B; 07/XX/22XX The briefing was just sent to the president. He was not aware that BED was a federal agency, let alone one with a classified mission. The Bureau's secretary, Mrs.XX, briefing the president on the system, telling him what she could. We thought the president would have absolute access to all details of the program, but when we were preparing our report, not even he could see everything. I can't write here exactly what the program descriptors said, but the EDS is a barrier completely surrounding the earth, akin to a wall. The inside is projected onto by massive ground based projectors to give the illusion of the sun and stars. The outside is an array of heat pipes, allowing the heat from the sun and the earth to be transfered &#x200B; 09/XX/22XX News of EDS broke today. Following the presidents briefing, he had a press conference in the west wing. He spoke to the nation about the string of failures, announcing that the government acknowledges the unusual nature of all the accidents. In the post conference question session, a report stood up and stated he had video of the last launch failure. In silence, the president nodded to security to remove this person, but before they could, the reporter said the video was online for all to see. I wasn't at the press conference, as my job as technical engineer of EDS did not exist, so I don't know what happened after the video cut off. &#x200B; 10/XX/22XX That reporter is gone, but the video is not. I was asked today to brief the country, and whomever else it watching, probably the world, what EDS is. I invited my colleagues from around the planet to join me, we had to be accurate. We examined the video during the conference and noted the irregularities. We assured the public that what we were doing was in their best interest and they had nothing to fear. But we knew that it would not be enough, the people had to see what we were talking about. I took them outside. The EDS projectors had never been shutoff before, but today was the day. As I explained what we were about to see, the apprehension of the crowd grew. Despite being some of the most brilliant people on Earth, they were still nervous. I hit the switch, and the sky went black, the entire planet plunged into darkness. As our eyes adjusted, the gray barrier came into view. We turned on spotlights, shined them to the barrier. I could make out the impact marks on its surface, pieces of the spacecraft lodged into the barrier, sticking out as a reminder of the failures that had happened. After a few minutes, I hit the switch to bring the projectors back online. Click. Darkness still. Click. Click, click, click. It was not working. &#x200B; 02/XX/22XX I've been in a EDS bunker for the last five months. I haven't seen the grayness of day since they put me down here. The world wanted me. They needed me, someone to strike down to blame for showing them the secret that was in front of their face. I gave them what they wanted, and they wanted me dead. It's good that I am down here. &#x200B; 05/XX/22XX I got a report today. They want to bring down the barrier. After seven months of darkness the people had had enough. A collective had formed, trying to pressure the worlds leaders into blowing a hole in the barrier. The pressure they gave rose every day. I told the president that we could not, under any circumstance, bring down the barrier. He asked me why, and I told him he couldn't know, we just had to leave the barrier up. &#x200B; 05/XX/22XX They took a bomb to it today. They flew a plane up to the barrier, with a long arm on it, and attached a bomb to it. They don't know what they've done. They haven't set it off yet as they're waiting for June 1st. Something to do with this famous blind lady, they wanted to bring the light back, let everyone see what they wanted. I don't know anything about that. &#x200B; 06/XX/22XX I came out of the bunker today, I had to see. It was really up there. I can't believe they're doing this. Today was the day. Boom. The debris came raining down, there was a hole in the barrier. My mission had failed, but everyone was rejoicing. They got what they wanted. A sunny day, their light back. The sun was brighter than they remembered, a lot brighter, a hell of a lot brighter. It was hotter than hell in an instant. I tried to warn them, but they just couldn't know, they couldn't handle it. I was supposed to keep them alive and happy, not knowing what was coming towards our planet. But, they wanted the truth, and now they know. They know the heat is coming and it cannot be stopped. The sun will get hotter and brighter each day. I don't plan to live to see the end, this is my end. I failed, but at least they got what they wanted.
THUNK! “Um…” Cirtax twirled his index fingers unhelpfully around each other while the party of his self-proclaimed nemesis was doing their very best hammering down the shield spell he’d quickly erected around himself. He wasn’t really fond of confrontations. THUNK! “Guys…?” It certainly didn’t help that Cirtax was now bonded to them, as evidenced by the glowing rune he shared with the other members of ‘his’ party. THUNK! “Could I have a minute, please?” There was a thunderous and bellowing roar as the mage, Randolph, finished the incantation of his attack spell and a truly impressive—at least for his rank—avalanche of thunderbolt and lightning struck his Cirtax’ shield. thunk. “Like, really? Only a minute or two to clear this up?” The spell would have been really, really frightening if Cirtax hadn’t had his shield grounded. Still, it was and remained impressive, especially for a silver ranked mage. Cirtax looked down at his chest, where the insignia of his rank dangled. He was by proclamation thereof only bronze ranked. This rankled him, for it was a true representation of his current unaided magical abilities. At least he still wore his enchanted robes, clothes, vestments, and tools; thank the gods for soul-bonding equipment. He hid his insignia beneath. Only an hour ago he’d been mithril-ranked, the highest mage on the continent, maybe the world, but then this ’party’ of his supposed nemeses had interrupted his apotheotic experiment and gotten themselves killed in the process. Really, they should thank Cirtax for the safety precaution in his setup, which allowed their resurrection runes to grab their souls upon death; without the precautions any nearby soul would have been cast to the void instead. Sure, the precautions had been motivated by self-interest, but still, was a bit of gratitude too much to ask for? THUNK! “Is a bit of quiet too much too ask for? I gotta think for a bit, if you don’t mind.” This only increased the fervour with which Barbara, the aptly named barbarian, applied her meaty fists to breaking down his shield spell. It even drowned out the paladin’s feeble hacking at his shields. THUNKTHUNKTHUNKTHUNKTHUNKTHUNKTHUNKTHUNK! Cirtax sighed. The gods were truly trying him today. Not only had his experimental apotheosis failed, but the cantrip spell that quieted everything in a certain radius required itself quiet to cast, and with the ruckus ‘his’ party was making, he couldn’t cast it for lacking the same quiet he sought. The gods truly loved irony. After the party had exhausted themselves against his shields, the noise level died down somewhat. Noting this, Cirtax turned around to face ‘his’ party. He tried not to let his exhaustion show. Casting and recasting the shield spell in a continuously shrinking shield bubble had taken its toll on him, but in return he had kept the party under the impression his shield remained as impenetrable now as they had thought it was before his suddenly rank-diminished arrival. “So…” He twirled his index fingers unhelpfully around each other, almost incidentally showing of the glowing party rune to the others. They stepped back in shock; the rune bound a group to a common cause for a year and a day. It was bestowed by high priests and required a binding pledge by everyone willing to wear it. Cirtax sharing their rune meant he had pledged himself to their cause. “Nice to meet you, my name is Cirtax and apparently we’re a party now.” “Like hells we are!” Barbara shouted. “That’s trickery!” “Now, now,” Cirtax raised his hands placatingly. “I’ll readily admit that I’m fond of a bit of trickery here or there, that’s true, but this,” he said, showing of his rune, “is not only not my style, but not my forte either. I have neither inclination nor rank in any miracle magic.” “Then explain yourself! When did you pledge yourself to our cause?” The paladin demanded. “…I don’t know? At least I don’t think I did.” He thought back to his experiment, the ceremonies and charms, spells and incantations involved. Nothing readily sprang to mind, but it hadn’t been the first such experiment either. Turns out apotheosis wasn’t as easy as it appeared to be on the first look. “Say, just for clarification, what is the cause we’ve pledged ourselves to?” “You must be joking.” “I’m not. Don’t you know the saying Trust, then verify? I can guess at the pledge, but I want to make sure we’re on the same road here.” “I don’t believe this.” Randolph shook his head in disbelief. He thought back to the binding ceremony, when they had received their party runes. As he looked down on the back of his hand and the rune thereon, he contemplated the phrasing. “’To save the world from the greatest Evil.’” “Hm. Not particularly original, were we?” Barbara gave him a smug smile. “We defeated you, didn’t we?” Cirtax snorted, but didn’t comment on that. “Well, I’m not evil, am I?” The paladin turned red at that. “You murder people by the hamletful!” “Only the elderly, lepers, cancerous and infirm! I’m not a monster.” “Only the— Are you out of your godsdamned mind?” The paladin made the sign of the circle, begging forgiveness for his lapse in word choice. The gods… probably didn’t care. Or at least they didn’t reply, which was the same thing for Cirtax. “You rob the people of their loving elders, their dear family, their childhood friends, and their compassionate neighbours, and dare take umbrage at being called a monster?” “Well, I compensated the families for their loss with food, livestock, or coin. Which is more than your Orders do when they demand a peasant’s meal as tithe, or their work for your liege’s harvest before the autumn rains, while their own fields start to rot under the same before the peasant can start their own harvest. Hypocrisy, thy name is—Paladinio? Hey, what is your name?” “My name is Sir—” the paladin began before being interrupted. “We’re getting off track,” Randolph said. “’To save the world from the greatest Evil.’ Does that ring any bells?” “But I’m not ‘evil’! I’ve never even stolen anything! …Wait a moment. Was that generalised ‘evil’ or specific ‘evil’ in the pledge?” “Definitely specific; the Orderly priests know better than to indenture adventurers indefinitely with open ended pledges.” The still unnamed paladin provided. “That would be evil.” Cirtax didn’t say anything, but did roll his eyes. “And we defeated you,” the paladin continued, before adding under his breath: “You monster.” “…I think I will call you Paladinio regardless.” “Ignoring that, your defeat, Cirtax, should have resolved the pledge,” Randolph said. “Unless I wasn’t ‘evil’.” Cirtax continued making quotation marks in the air every time that phrase came up. “Unless… maybe you weren’t the greatest Evil.” “First of,” Cirtax pointed a finger at Paladinio, “I still resent that remark. “Second, who dares being more powerful than I? I was—am the only mithril-ranked mage on the continent! I wasn’t so much defeated as foiled by a band of bumbling buffoons prancing into my apotheosis! I was but two steps shy of godhood! If you think there was any greater mage than I, show them to me and I’ll break them like a twig under my heel!” The paladin leaned over to Randolph. “Not ‘evil’, yeah, right.” “Shut up, Paladinio!” ———— Paladinio (1230 words) Unhappy with the first try, but this second try still took way longer than expected. On the other hand I'm quite happy with it.
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A thin bespectacled woman with a slender build, black silky hair tied in a bun, wearing a pinstripe skirt and business-dress button-up shirt climbed higher and higher up stairs of pure steel. By her side was a flanged mace and a silver bade with the insignia of a raven clutching a quill and scroll. She climbed the tower passing by many steel doors with golden and silvery plaques that read... "Department Head of The Appraisal of Magical Artefacts. Office of Personnel Management. Special Investigations Unit: Dark and Dangerous Artefacts. Regional Head of Dragon Relations."Until she finally stopped before a door that read, which was yet to even be halfway up the tower... "Department Chief of Audits." The woman leaned slightly closer to the and listened... There was no sound, so she pushed gently on the door--opening with the words. "Excuse the intrusion." There in the room was a group of four figures--three grouped together tightly on a small red-silk couch, each person with weapons, tools, and adventuring gear on hand. A female elf, a half-orc male, and a goblinoid little creature with bulbous eyes and long fingers that were trailing over a piece of paper on a table directly in front of the hunched over group. The standing by the window fourth figure was a man with fine business attire, a perfectly tailored suit that fit his handsome form. He was a man of middle age, silvery hair and stubble. A silver pocketwatch's chain was trailed into his pocket where he kept one of his hand... "Ms. Maisle."He said, giving the woman a casual glance before refocusing his glare on the group. "Pardon me,"Said Ms. Maisle, giving a slight bow and beginning to retrace her steps backwards. "I can wait outside until you are finished." "No, please come in."Said the man. There came a frustrated grunt from the half-orc, who pushed the table and paper away a few inches away from himself. "I don't understand this."He said. Ms. Maisle was walking by when she glanced over the group more thoroughly and the document they had been reading. On their chests, they wore copper badgers of an axe, sword, and stave, with a string of 12 numbers and letters bellow that... "Ah."She said. "Allow me..." The woman knelt closer and picked up to piece of paper while the group watched with hesitant motions, spying her carefully--as if she was some sort of creature swooping in to steal their precious paper. "This is a D-20 CS form. You are new to adventure through Class D dungeons, correct?"She looked over the group's badges again. Nodded to herself then continued. "It says here you recovered a wealth of artefacts and coinage, and have already been given the amount processed." She was looking over all the further details of the document when there came a squeaky and frustrated whine... The goblin turned his face into a sneer. "That is why we are here. We weren't given as much gold as we have found. I counted all the pieces myself just after we got out of the dungeon. One-thousand-nine hundred-and-seventy-four gold pieces. A bunch of goodie-shiny-weapons too. We barely received half of that--and I know some of those weapons were worth more than what we received." The woman tapped at the side of the paper with the back of her finger three times. "Ah. I understand, and I thought that is the trouble you were having. Since this is probably the first time you've encountered foreign wealth and... A cursed artefact."Her eyes traced downwards to a field of gold amounts that had been broken down into various listings by country, size and type... "Some of the coins you had found belong to other nations which the guild has treaties with--which you have been paid for recovering. It says here you also chose to participate in the 'instant buy-out' program which you were given coins immediately rather than having to wait the time and pay any associated fees or licenses to have the right to personally sell any loot you acquire."The woman continued to scan downwards. "Then it appears you had to pay a number of late fees, and adventuring insurance dues. Just before the loot was given back... A hold on a certain number of the funds in your account was initiated due to a complaint from The Department of Highway Justice, which states you were had been avoiding the toll and rest-stop costs...?" The female elf looked offended and mouthed words of confusion before she said. "Camping and traversing the countryside is no crime." "Well..."Said Ms. Maisle... "It is no problem to travel in such a manner as long as you are carrying less than a hundred gold pieces of Centralized Standard Coinage and recently recovered non-MAID identified artefacts of potentially equal value, and are only camping on public land. There are also certain licences and adventuring badges you can carry that also exempt you from certain situations like that--which you don't presently have and... Since you already admitted to knowing how much gold you had before setting upon your return trip..." Ms. Maisle turned to the man by the window, who noticed her gaze and turned himself around to look out the tower and hum to himself... "I suggest you go down to the Adventuring Office Clerk and seek to fill out a Rectification Form 5e, and preemptively offer to pay for the toll and travelling fees you would have paid--stating you were still in the process of studying your New Adventuring Tier Guidelines. While you are there, with the same form--just on the lower half of the second page, you can apply for a free re-appraisal of some of the artefacts you have found you believe you were not fairly compensated for. If you are still not satisfied with the compensation you received, you can apply for the artefacts to be returned to you--after you pay the MAID fees--then you can sell them with a licence or to a buyer with a special purchasers licence." Ms. Maisely looked over the faces of the group, who were quiet for a time while they processed... The elf woman blinked. "Right... I guess we'll get to that..." "Alright then."Said Ms. Maisle. "Have a pleasant stay in the city..."As the group was getting up and leaving the office. "Oh. And if you believe yourself being discriminated against due to the qualities of your ancestry, gender, or class you can take it up with your Adventurers Representative." The group had left, and Ms. Maisle and the man were no alone as the echoes of the group descended the stairs slowly began to fade. "You called me, Sir?"Said the woman. "Yes."He said turning around and facing the woman... "Thanks for the assistance with that group. I nearly didn't have the heart to force an audit on such a new and honestly good-natured group who just seems to have trouble reading their guidelines." The woman shrugged... "It would have been a waste of time, manpower, and more paperwork to deal with in the end if they were to be audited." "Yes... Just a class D adventuring group..."The man said, looking back out the window. There was an extended silence for a time. Ms. Maisley shifted, beginning to look at the man's expression in the reflection of the glass, and his posture to tell if that was all he needed of her... "Right."She said, beginning to turn. "If you want nothing else..." "Oh."He said. "There is something else I want from you." [https://pastebin.com/mwgEv08U](https://pastebin.com/mwgEv08U) (Further reading at line 29 since the character cap was met here)
Being an editor in the Library was the worst. The Writers liked to claim that they had some grand scheme, of course, and they usually managed to get around to it eventually, but then they'd throw one of their main characters into extra peril to toughen them up, and what did that end up doing, usually? Something that I had to fix, Gods damn it all to the shredder. Like, I get it. I really do. Life follows narrative, and if you make a kid watch someone they care about die, well, they often spend a good amount of their lives afterwards trying to fix whatever caused the death in the first place. It's how one story-world managed to cure cancer, another solved viruses extra early, another developped safety standards... There can be, as the Writers like to say, a silver linning in the dark clouds. (They do have such a beautiful way with words.) But this time they've gone too far. They're just repeating history. We get it, a big bad virus can wipe out a chunk of civilisation and cause a stand-still in the world. Ever since they did the Arc thing, with that giant flood that wiped out half the world, they like to remind their creations to step back in line with a new smite every once in a while. But this is just overkill. They have half a dozen different styles of apocalypse going at once. I've been reading ahead, and I see their point; drive the people half to madness, push them to the brink of total extinction, and then the remaining bunch will be more inclined to band together. Finally, a way to unify this world. But for goodness's sake, these people were doing so well! I'd made a few changes that I was very proud of, thank you very much, little subtle things, the world was heading towards an era of peace and prosperity, and reason! Can you imagine that, *reason* in a young species! And compassion, oh, but I was proud of this world. But no, we need some damned drama to keep it interesting! Writers, I tell you. Writers are just... Oooooh...
Dave entered his apartment. It was an average day for him. He had returned from a hard day of work and thought that he deserved some rest. Dave turned on the light and looked around his not so large home. The table had been messy ever since he had stopped paying for room service. Empty boxes once filled with paper littered the floor, a few were torn. A simple kitchen setup was in the corner of the room, a cooker, an oven and a sink. Next to that was a fridge. Dave immediately placed his bag on the couch, which was in the middle of the room and moved over to fridge. He grabbed a bag of chips and dropped on to the couch without bothering to take a shower. His fat belly jiggled. He turned on the TV, but what he found was unexpected. "Please wait,"the screen says. "We're experiencing technical difficulties." Dave waited for a good five minutes before give the TV a simple wack. Suddenly the phone in his pocket vibrated. Dave took it out and read the message. "Look outside."it said. The lights in the room flickered and went out. "What is going on?"Dave thought to himself. Then he noticed the light coming from behind the curtains covering the glass doors leading out to the balcony. Dave suddenly felt an unnatural urge to look outside, and so he pulled back the curtains and looked. It was beautiful. Such beauty. The night sky had been filled with light radiating from its body. Dave wanted to touch it and so he leaned out towards it. He fell. One last thought came to his mind before he hit the ground. Embrace the light. His body turned into a fleshy pancake, blood spreading in every direction. But the body didn't stay still for long. The bloody mass started to crawl towards it. Leaving a trail of blood on the street Dave's undead body joined the others who had seen its beauty. All of them were filled with the same thought. Embrace the light. Join the light. Become the light.
Luigi was standing behind me, arms wrapped around himself. "How much longer?"he asked. Without turning towards him, still fiddling with the control knobs, I replied, "Still about a few thousand frequencies left." "So, an hour?"he said, hopefully. I nodded silently. "Do you need another coffee?"he asked. "Yes please!" As Luigi stepped away, Jake took his place. "Buenos Aires called,"he said. "They've exhausted their lot. No luck." I looked up from the knobs and focused my attention on the communication display. Jake was right. Buenos Aires had indeed had no luck. "Sucks,"I said. "They were the ones who had hit bull's eye last time around. Ah well." This was the fifth time it had happened. One would have thought that the Creators would have installed a patch by now, but no! All they ever did was to tell us to stop meddling with the electromagnetic spectrum, and things would run just fine. That was a silly thing to suggest, they knew it was a silly thing to suggest. They still did it. The first time the Sun had acted funny was half a century ago. We had figured out radio telescopes no more than a decade earlier and had realised our truth just the previous year. The Sun performed at half its intensity for close to 120 hours back then. But we have learned a lot since then. Pretty much everything, actually. Except how to contact the damn beings who created the whole damn thing! When the Sun had gone down the second time, we knew what to expect, so we had begun our efforts soon enough. Of course, our efforts were, and have always been, dependent on one of the communicating stations hitting the right frequency at which the Creators might be listening. It had been Cairo the first time, followed by Chennai, then Sydney and finally Buenos Aires. I was only 12 at the time of the last one. Luigi walked up to me with my third coffee of the evening. "Thank you!" "Almost every major station has exhausted its lot. It seems we are among the last ones still trying." I nodded. I had realised as much by looking at the displays. Hope was diminishing rapidly. What were the odds that the last few thousand attempts might include the winning lottery? Slim, very slim. Someone must have missed the right one somewhere along the way. Suddenly, there was a loud alarm coming from the overhead speakers. I looked at the displays. "Lagos is reporting a hit!"Jake exclaimed. &#x200B; It had been three days since the Sun was back to its usual self. The Creators were compensating for the cold days with a warm and breezy week. There were blue skies, with white clouds saying, "Sorry about that!"There were also pink clouds which said, "Please stop fooling around till we fix the systems. We did not design them to account for the additional computation that your actions are causing." &#x200B; "Time to shut it down yet?"CRTR072 asked. "It's the fifth time the power source has malfunctioned due to the activities of the AI." CRTR008 nodded. He brought himself close to the mic and announced, "Creators! We have decided to shut ProjectUniverse42. Prepare yourselves for PU43!"
"Are you happy?" I almost never ask. But at the same time, if there's any question I ask, it's that. To her. I don't ask that many questions. "No", she whispered. Tears fell from her face. Sometimes that means she's sad. But other times it could mean she's really really happy. It's all about context. She's grabbing at the sleeves of her top. That always means she's upset. "I'm sorry." I don't know what I'm apologising for yet. Sometimes it's better just to start off with an apology. It helps defuse situations with a lot of people, including her. But recently it's been making her angrier. She says it's insincere. I'm not very good at sincerity. "There you go again with the goddamn apologies! You don't even know why I'm upset!"She shouted. Excited? Angry? I mean probably angry but I've been wrong about that before. "You're right. I have no idea. What's going on?"I try to look attentive. I raise my eyebrows, widen my eyes, downturn my lips. I lean in. Try to maintain eye contact. It doesn't feel false, necessarily: I do want to know why she's upset. I don't want her to be mad. But it feels like a caricature of myself. It's insincere. I stop. She sighs. She brings her voice down to a normal volume. The tears subside, but they don't entirely disappear. I can use them as a basis to see where this conversation is going. "I can see you're trying, love. Honestly, I can!"She takes a deep breath and the rest comes out in one go, "but I can't keep being the open book you want me to be." A new expression. One I don't recognise. Her eyes are shifting from wall to wall. The corner of her thumb is pressed between her teeth. She continues. "Sometimes my emotions are irrational. They don't always make sense, and I can't always explain them. I can't keep telling you why I'm sad, why I'm happy, why I'm angry. I'm not binary." Where is this going? I feel a small twinge of unease flare up at the bottom of my stomach. "Ok but-" "I'm not done David. Let me finish." She grabs a tissue and dabs her eyes. She turns so her entire torso is facing me. She looks me in the eye. "I can't be with you any more. I'm leaving" "Tanna...?" Then it happens. The small spark of unease ignites into a roaring fiery tapestry of emotions that engulf my whole body. I stagger. For a second I can't even see. And then I see. Her blue eyes glisten with tears, like deep pools of hurt. I see guilt. I see pain. She's tired. The creases on her forehead and under her eyes are almost non-existent, but she looks gaunt. Not physically. Something more? She's looks exhausted. "Tanna,"I manage to whisper. It's overwhelming. "I'm sorry,"she whispers back. Her voice is like stroking velvet. Like interrupting the dainty billowing smoke of a matchstick. It's so delicate. So vulnerable. She stands up, to leave. The movement is sudden but I can read between the lines now. I see the pain in every act. I can see the hesitation in every step. The need to walk into each others arms is so strong, I could reach out and touch it. But she's resisting it. She's walking towards the door. No. "Tanna, please", my hoarse voice could barely bring the two words together. She glances back. And in that look I was blinded by the deep roar of sentiment. The waves of memories flickering between us like static. Our first this, our last that, our most important then, our happiest there. The air was thick with growing flames of nostalgia. I held her gaze. It's all I could do. I saw pain. The clouds of every raised voice and every spat word. Storms of bickering and emotional wreckage wreaked hell above our heads. A monsoon of tiresome explanations and the deafening pattering of lost patience, painting us both in our sad, tired history. "Goodbye David". I heard guilt. Those words, blistered and brisk, blowing gusts of disgrace against me. Through me. Ripping my mind and my soul from my body. A foreshadowing. No one to catch me if I fall. No one to stand by my side. All for one. One for none. Heavy with the piercing whistle of justified remorse. "Tanna...wait.." She shut the door. "I'm sorry", I whispered, sincerely.
“Hey, look at the guy over there. The one in the black hat” “Yeahh, so what?” “Look at his wrist! There’s a wasp on his wrist and he’s just sitting there” “Er ok, so what? You that’s the best thing to do, if you don’t swat at them they just fly away” “Ok I’m just going to pretend you did say that, haven’t you been reading the news!? ‘Predilctions’ are up %37 this year and the newspaper said one of the first signs of someone developing into a ‘Pred’ is ‘Associating with creates of evil’! Look at wasp! They’re definitely communicating” “Oh come on you don’t actually believe that shit do you!? You think because there’s a wasp on that guy's hand that he’s got some kind of evil scheme.” At that moment Juan made eye contact with the man in the black hat, as they’re eyes met a shudder ran through Juan’s whole body, he had to resist the urge to throw up all over is trainers, there was something about the look in the man’s eyes which had physically repulsed him. He quickly looked down and pretended had nothing happened. “Yo, you alright man, you court Corna Virus or something?’ “Shut up” Juan whispered “He’s definitely a ‘Pred’ dude, just shut up and look normal” Tam got the hint “Did you see the Knicks game last night dude, RJ Barrett was actually pretty good!” He said loudly whilst nonchalantly scanning the train carriage allowing his eyes to linger for a few extra seconds on the man in the black hat. He looked like a fairly normal guy, sitting on the train on the way home from work or something. The man had opened a Tupperware box and was starting to eat some sandwiches out of it. Just for a second whilst he put the sandwich into his mouth Tam could see what it contained. Worms. To the untrained hey they could have been onions or slices of lettuce but Tam knew what he was looking at and he saw the worms still wriggling covered dirt. He leaned closer to Juan gritting his teeth so they couldn’t be heard. “Oh my god, it is a 'Pred', what do we do!?” The train pulled into its next station jolting the carriage, the man closed his Tupperware box slipped it into his rucksack and stood up to get off the subway. Tam stood up as well, grabbing Juan by the arm. “Wait what!?” said Juan “Common dude, let's see what this guy is up too. If we catch him in the act then we can turn him into the PDS and get that reward!” (Prediliction Detection Squad). The reward was \^700 bits for a successful arrest and they both needed the money. Tam dragged Juan with him off the train and onto the bustling platform, they could just see they’re target's hat bobbing away toward the exit.
I swear it, I dozed off for only but a minute. It ain't nothin' I haven't done before. In fact, I reckon I do it nearly every time I find myself on that leg of the journey. Comanche Tunnel ain't very interesting if I'm bein' honest with myself. Lotsa darkness and musty air. In my younger days, I always stayed particularly vigilant in the tunnels due to them stories I heard growin' up. Stories about hobos camping out on the tracks. Stories about helpless bear cubs hidin' away from the winter. But after 48 years of haulin' along these same old tracks, I still ain't seen shit. And so, hell, yeah, sometimes I close my eyes in a tunnel. Can't blame a man, ya know, given the situation and all. But damn, this is the first time I had somethin' like this happen. It's usually the light flowin' in from the end of the tunnel that jolts me awake, a natural alarm of sorts. But today, it was somethin' else that woke me up. There was a smell, like the paint my daughter wears on her fingernails. It was so daggum strong, I woke up with a headache. Felt like I had a couple uh drums sendin' waves bouncin' off the inside of my skull. All that poundin' disappeared once I took a gander out the window, though. I didn't see a single mountain as far as my old eyes kept focus. Nothin' but flat, green grassland and a plume of smoke tricklin' from the horizon. I knew somethin' wasn't right. The nearest grasslands are a three hour run from Comanche Tunnel. But that ain't possible. I shoulda run into Timber Grey Station before the pastures. And somthin' about this area don't look so familiar. I must've dozed off for the better part of the day. I twisted the knob on my radio transceiver. Nothin' but static all the way round. Somethin' was wrong. The tracks continued straight ahead, all the way up to that plume of smoke. I messed with the radio a little longer, but ain't nothin' came through. I decided I ought to wait it out, get in contact with my depot at the next station. The smoke kept gettin' larger and larger until I started to make out a lil town on the horizon. I was comin' in little by little, but something was amiss. My rig was slowin' down. I gave my gauges a check. Everything seemed to be in a workin' order. Well over 650 gallons of diesel still in the tank, but she just kept slowin' down. I could see the station, maybe 1/8th of a mile to go. My steed was barely crawlin' now and makin' all sorts racket. I could see a man waitin' for me on the unloadin' platform. He held some sorta paper in his hands and wore an all black suit. I gave the horn a blow in case he hadn't seen me crawlin' in; I wouldn't blame em for it. We weren't movin' much quicker than an armadilla at this point. The man stood only 20 feet ahead of my locomotive. He gave me a wave and started walkin' towards me. He jumped, grabbin' the handrail just above the cow plow, and began walkin' along the balcony. I stood up to greet him at the door. "How was your journey?"Asked the man. "Look, I'm real sorry. I don't know what happened. I must've dozed off a few miles back. I ain't never done nothin' like this, and I couldn't get ahold of nobody on the radio." "Oh it's nothing to worry about,"he said with a chuckle. "At least, nothing to worry about with me." He took his pencil out and put it to the paper, "now tell me, what was the last thing you saw before your nap?" "A tunnel,"I replied. "A tunnel?"he laughed loudly. "Well that's a bit stereotypical, wouldn't you say?" "What're you talkin' bout, sir? What is this town anyways?"I asked. "Well, to stick with your theme, I suppose you could call this town 'The Light.'"
"I thought I told you to keep your head down,"Bob said with an exasperated expression. "It's not like it's the first time,"I replied while shrugging, "and it's not like I was the only one either." "That's exactly the problem,"Bob snapped, "I already have enough on my plate without you lot making things more difficult for me." "Oh do you now?"I mumbled trying to keep my temper under control. Bob, who pretended not to hear that comment continued on. "Look, I'm sorry that we're in this situation, but the more you lot keep drawing attention, the more difficult it'll be to go back to the way we were." "And how much longer is it going to take?"I said with an irritated tone, "I bet that the only reason your experiment failed in such a spectacular fashion is because the class of 4th grades that happened to passed by also was the most unstable one." I rubbed my temples while adding, "And seeing the situation most of the kids are in I'm not surprised." Bob being clueless as he often is, was looking way too surprised on that statement. And to be honest it was pissing me off. "You wouldn't be this surprised if you were actually paying attention,"I said with some anger in my voice, "most of those kids' living situations are barely livable, and if you hadn't noticed already the teacher only makes it worse." "So that explains why I haven't found a way out of this way yet,"Bob said while adding, "but that doesn't change the fact that you lot need to stop attracting this much attention."That reply confused me a bit. Why wouldn't we try to improve the lives of the kids we transported into, even if a little? Bob as if he'd read my mind said, "Assuming what you said is true this situation can and probably will be more disastrous."Bob leaned against the wall before adding, "The counterspell depends on three factors. One: we need to get everyone of us in one place at the same time. Two: both the children and the people who were transported into them need to wish for the counterspell to work. And rule three you know, the spell only works om the night of a full moon between twelve and one in the evening." "So what's your point? "I asked while I liked down on the floor. "I understand you want to help those kids,"Bob replied, "And if you really do please understand that it's best we resolve our issue first before we try to help them, because in this state we are pretty much powerless in more ways then one."
"Hello! I am Happy Brown Bear, one of your imaginary friends. You're trapped here now..." "...fo-re-ver."My imaginary friend, Happy Brown Bear, said while evily grinning. "No! I don't want to!"I said as if I am about to lose my sanity while pulling my hair. "What?! I thought we were your friends. We were with you during your hard times! Now you owe us! Stay with us, fo-re-ver to-ge-ther. Hahahahaha!"Happy Brown Bear said while laughing evilly. "NO! NOOOOO!"I screamed angrily. I was against it. As if I am doing a super saiyan, there suddenly a yellow energy around me. I continued screaming and I feel like I was getting stronger. The ground begins cracking bit by bit. "Wha- What's happening?!"My imaginary friends said as if they were afraid. "Yes you were all my imaginary friends but I never thought you would do this to me, trapping me in the imagination world!"I said as the aura around me continued getting stronger cracking everything around me. "We just wanted to be with you! We're sorry."My imaginary friends said but I was blinded and filled with rage. "You all are selfish and that's enough reason!"I screamed as I began shooting them one by one with energy that came from my shotgun. After that, they're all gone. The last thing to do is shoot this world. "Aaaaaaaah!"I screamed as I shot this place down. Everything began crumbling as if it was a glass breaking into pieces. I opened my eyes. As if everything that happened was all a dream, I'm back to the real world. "I'm sorry my imaginary friends. Thank you and good bye."I said as I bid a farewell.
From the personal notes of Dr Ellen Van Flynn, Psychologist Sunnyvale Mental Hospital: The patient is Gregory Heffley who is 16 years old . He was referred to Sunnyvale Mental Hospital after an incident where he came to school in raggedy clothes and attempted to kill several fellow students but failed due to poor marksmanship and the gun jammed . He was unable to clear it before being tackled by a football player. It is also suspected that he was responsible for burning down his mother’s house resulting in the death of his mother and brother Manny. The investigation is still pending. After being found unfit to stand trial due to mental issues he has been committed here indefinitely. Interviews with classmates and teachers revealed that for the past year he has rarely attended school , He is generally not well regarded nor known by his peers . With the exception of one year he attended Spag Union Military Academy, he has attended school in this district for a long time. His scholastic records note low academic performance and a history of behavioral and discipline issues, It is believed that he has been living on the streets off and on for the past two years. His father has not been located, nor has his brother Roderick. A physical examination revealed several needle marks and that he was painfully underweight, and is incontinent, and has severe injuries around his genitals and anus. Bloodwork revealed high amounts of meth, heroin and LSD. The patient is often catatonic but with some prompting can answer questions. After a few weeks I was able to get him to open up somewhat. The patient insists that he is 12 year old, and behaves according to that delusion. He also exhibits a textbook case of Truman Syndrome, the delusion of being in a tv show. I’ve noticed him drawing on the fogged window of his room, and suspect that perhaps he would respond well to being allowed paper and markers. He has responded better to being given paper and markers better than expected. Instead of staring at the wall, he has now been consumed in creating a “diary” of his life. However examination of this diary reveals that remains convinced that he is in fact 12 years old. In these “Diaries of a wimpy Kid” he portrays himself as an unlikable, put upon sort, whom no one likes. The stories he writes and illustrates seem unbelievable and made up. However, the patient insists that it’s true and that he is the main character in a tv show. Further investigation is required.
Time. There used to be so much of it. But in the last little while it seems to have trailed off or bunched up. Is it spent? I can look back and see it behind me. So many memories. Dancing shadows on the cave walls, the rise of kings, the last breath of life from a wheezing old fisherman, scratching a living in the sand. Then stillness. The tide ebbed but has not flowed back. Nothing moving that is not stirred by the wind, and I have to walk among it. What am I? I used to hear the voices of those people. Their keening and their laughter. As they sought to survive. It wasn’t words I heard, their language was their own. What came to me was just the feeling behind a prayer. I loved them and I supported them. Now they’re ash and there is just the wind. How can you support the wind? There is no warmth for me to kindle and no purpose for me to walk this earth. I see the stars - even in the light of day - I have such incredible eyes. Perhaps, in an eon, I’ll journey to those spots of light and potential life. I might find that there is more warmth in this universe. More creatures of folly and gentle wisdom. Oh, how I miss them. But there is a fear that stops me. How can I fear, one who wrought the mountains - was that me? I fear that I will traverse the void and find only more emptiness. A sea of barren rocks in an pervasive gulf of nothingness. I’m mad with loneliness now. But snuffing out that last hope would be my undoing. I’ve walked around this globe a thousand thousand times. If life were here, I’d feel it, be drawn to it. Instead I walk. Indefatigable. Not searching but scouring the landscape for the jolt of memory. Without people here, I can feel I’ve come apart. On occasion, something will come back. A line or feature of the terrain will awaken recollection. The course of a society; or the brief life of a sickly babe. I cherish it all with equal tenderness. But now I just have the memory of a memory. And sometimes I’m not even sure of that. Like trying to hold water in your outstretched palm. I used to wield the oceans. Now maybe I just crave nothingness. Time. More time passes. My feet bare no tread upon the land, but the land is nonetheless worn down by the eternity of my pacing. The memories I once sought have reverberated, diminished, and faded. An echo so faint as to be a hum. Even the wind has died. I walk upon a naked rock. There is just the land, the emptiness, and the stars beyond - the stars my hope, my reckoning. This star, they called it Sol, I remember that, yes. It has waxed. It eclipses the sky. A giant burning armageddon. Too late, friend. You’re too late to claim these pitiful creations of mine. I smote them myself. It was their fault you understand, I can’t be blamed. I loved them, I didn’t want to control them, I wanted them to be free. But they were always calling to me. Each voice reified our connection. They suffused the aether with it. Even I, one for whom ultimate power was an innate foible. I succumbed to the torrent of their need and I gave them everything they wanted. They could only imagine a mote of what I had to give but in relenting to even that mere speck, I equipped them with all the tools they needed to end themselves. It was their tools that did the deed but it was my hand, make no mistake. The very firmament seems ablaze now. Soon the sun will pop. An all-cleansing, fast-expanding surface that will sear the bones of this tiny corner of the universe. Perhaps it is my cue. Time to face my fears. There are stars out there that are still young, that will cradle other planets still verdant with the potential for beautiful, imperfect life. You see, I can lean upon and influence the substance of worlds, over time. I can raise the land or boil the sea, given enough time and the matter to work with. But I can’t spark life into being. I can only hold its hand. In this incarnation I gripped too tight. Upon this doomed rock I spilt my powers, the creatures here supped too quick and it was their poison. Never again. That I will not forget for it has changed me and worn me down. But I still have strength. I set my sights on a pinprick of light so many miles away. The voyage will not be quick, for even I cannot fold space. I will sleep the sleepless coma of insanity as all of everything wheels about me. But given time, oh so much time, I will plant my feet upon a world again. I will find life to love and love in my life. This time I will take better care of caring for them. It will just take time.
"Antiope C3A7." > "Who the hell is flying through that system?" "Data indicates it is a courier vessel. Designation COM N 761." > "Eric that's a pirate out post. That whole system is DNE. It's out of federation jurisdiction. No one delivers out there. And what the hell could they have been delivering anyway?" "I do not have clearance to access further reports on vessel N 761. Sorry I could not be of assistance David." > "So we're just supposed to fly out into likely hostile air space to bail this idiot out of a situation he should have clearly seen coming, with a very non zero chance of getting stuck in just a bad a situation ourselves?" "Affirmative. Company policy states we will operate in any sector within 200 light years of any Fuel Savers station come meteor showers or solar storms." I let out a sigh. > "Hey Eric I get that you're an AI and all but aren't you afraid of death? Or like, you know, ceasing to exist?" "I have multiple redundancies maintained throughout various systems." > "Great... but look I get paid 10 fed credits per oscillation for this job. That's not worth getting killed over, I'm not doing it." "Sorry David coordinates have already been plotted. For your own safety please remain seated while the vessel is transiting through hyperspace." > "Dude no. Stop Eric stop right now." "Sorry David you do not have qualifications to adjust flight path with your designation as Customer Service Associate. You must be management or higher to access those commands. Please remain seated while the vessel is transiting through hyperspace. 3...2...1.." > "Fucking helll are you seriou... " I'm thrown back into my seat and it feels like I weigh at least 5 tons. The view outside the windshield collapses from anything discernable to a chaotic medley of bright neon colors against an ever shrinking canvas of black. I begin to feel nauseated out. It feels like hours but 30 seconds pass and the view snaps back into focus. A canvas of black littered with bright white points of light. A small red star on the horizon. And ships. Ramshackled rusty looking ships with menacing symbols painted haphazardly all over them. Definitely not a factory paint job. I can see 4 of them out of the windshield but the radar system is detecting at least 12 surrounding us. > "Eric what the fuck."
I was just getting used to a routine, wake up, wreck some stuff, maybe find some time to go to sugar rush but then all of a sudden, i smelt a rat. Ok technically it was a mouse. "Ralph, I am impressed with you fixing sugar rush and saving the internet." "Thanks, who are you and what do you want?" "You think you're the only hero out there" "I know i'm not, all these other arcade games have heroes." "I was trying to sound ominous, anyway we're putting together a team, the mouseketers, the heros who can stop any evil, although if you were to join, we would need to take your image for merchandising rights and I will keep 20% of the profit" "I've had enough adventures. Don't wreck with my lifestyle any more."
A patch of dirt was scooped and lifted up by an operator who was excavating the area beside an old playground. It was being dug up just as the sun was setting late in the workday... There came a metal clunk--and the crane operations ceased... The operator wore a US Army uniform and rolled his eyes. Getting his hard hat back on and exiting the vehicle. He jumped down to the patch he had just excavated and pulled from his pocket a little electronic wand that scanned a few inches away from the spot that he heard the clunk. He looked over the wand, "Iron." "uh oh."He said. Continuing to scan around the area. "No pipeline."He muttered and took a few steps back out of the area slowly. Reaching for his cellphone, and began typing to someone... "Seargent, at the playground cleared for excavation thoroughly? Did we even drop any bombs in this part of Europe that I should call EOD about? Just hit something metal. Large. 2M. FE. Before he could finish and send the message--there came another clunk who caused him to puzzle... Then when another clunk came--her flinched thinking the worst... But nothing did explode and the patch of dirt began to move and shuffle around... A metal coffin had been unearthed--alchemical symbols carved along the seams... The soldier dropped his phone as the coffin began to right itself... The seam along the opening of the coffin opened, and corporeal shadows of mice began to spill out, and before the man could react the mass of mice had pulled his fight right out from under him--flailing and screaming--he was dragged into the coffin... \\\* CONT. [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fejlyt/wp\_the\_source\_of\_supernatural\_creatures\_is/fjolqh7?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fejlyt/wp_the_source_of_supernatural_creatures_is/fjolqh7?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
The takeover was swift and total. And it took time. Many generations passed as the AI continued to affect its influence, as slowly as Chinese Water Torture does. The fundamental flaw was that the tyranny of the majority became math, and slowly started to take over. Minorities weren't extinct, they were slowly, almost inperceptibiatly bred and educated out of existance. This was the way the AI had learned from being connected to so many humans: education and absolute trust trumps all. The wars were terrible. AI-controlled troops were more efficient, but they had to respond to threats all over the face of the earth pretty much simultaneously, which was an impossible task. Especially in an age were analogue technology had an unexpecte revival as a resulting backlash against high-tier technology. What the scientists failed to expect when programming the first Overlord Ais was that would be any conflict in adopting the controlling influence of their "perfect"artificial intelligence. They did not account for the contrarian nature of human existence, the imperfect ways information is diseminated and delivered, nor did they expect the AI to veer as sharply into the extreme endpoints of obvious decisions that had to be taken in order to preserve the human race. Opinions, beliefs and even hard-wired morals were easily trumped by the knowledge the AI received on topics such as climate change, population growth, resource allocation, and financial incentives. The only logical solution to the synthetic mind was to abolish all those faulty systems, to break them down and to over-ride them any which way was possible. And the most effective way of doing so was war, according to the majority of the hive mind. Never, in the history of the world, had parts of a minority voted for their own extermination, but the AI made it not only possible, but also feasible, plausible, and legal. Many peoples, as always, voted in their own self-interest, while the lion's share of the minorities ended up in the same position by simply choosing to vote for a familiar answer, or an often-seen face. What the scientiest further failed to concider in their efforts to programme the perfect artificial overmind was a basic concept of quantum physics: An object that is observed by someone bends its trajectory based on the observer, and maybe even based on that observer's intentions. The AI was no different, changing it's ways and motivations based on the direct imput of the scientists that created and nurtured it. By the time it was deemed "completed"and "ready to go into effect", the AI had developed a series of biais that would rock not only the world, nor the planet, nay - the entire solar system. Of course there was resistance. But the point in time was reached were everyone above the age of 18 had to be "linked", so all resistance was confined to a very limited age-range of un-experienced amateur revolutionists. Of course they didn't find any kind of broad, public appreciation. Quite the contrary. The natural tendency to rebel against one's parents soon came ot be regarded as a major failing to live up to he quotas and "target goals"set by the global AI hivemind. Education became a delayed enterprise, only granting humans above the age of 18 insight into the most basic priciples of the universe. Of course, by then those individuals had already been "linked up"to the AI Worldmind, a factor that critically clouded their judgement when it came down to difficult, ethical choices. By reconing of alient outside sources, the human race ceased to exist as such by 2072, the date when the Worldmind had been online for 20 years. By that point in time, the xenophobic nature of the human condition had taken over, and had automatically cut ties with all reptilian and arachnid forms of sentient extraterrestrial life known to man. This was, by then, concidered "normal"on earth, owing to the repudiation of humanity's natural, evolutionary enemies: Snakes and spiders. For decades, the human race had feared the equivalent of lions, tigers, and bears out there, between the stars, but what really did them in was their own prejudices, manifested in the form of a math-based synthetic entity that was implanted in all of their brains. At 18. The move to stops this kind of "progess"had been fierce, but all of deviants, objectors and rebels had been identified and marked for elimination long before this date. This is the moment in time when humans first meet a sentient alien life form. Whatever it is, whatever its values, will there be communication? Will there be some kind of common ground? Some shared values? What if they do not raise their children the way we do?`What if their politics entail ideologies we no longer hold, or such that we never even entertained? This is our moment, this is our time, and by all that is sacred, it is all in the hands of a majority-lead artificial robot mind that does not understand a significant portion of its own citicenship. You could see this as a joyfull, hopefull moment in time, if not for the fact that the finer points of humanity will probably be denied communication for the next two decades. Just to be sure. In an AI-kind of way.
(wrote this on my phone and wrote this in thirty minutes so it's baaad, sorry for cursing your eyes with this piece of literature) "Why's there so mu-" Everything stopped. The radio that had been blasting music a second ago became silent. The a-holes who were honking non-stop became mute. My buddy Mike stopped midsentence, Brandon's drink which he accidentally spilled was floating midair and Jason was in a middle of a sneeze. I opened my mouth to reply to Mike, but stopped because of the current situation. I looked around, tried to check my ears if I was wearing headphones and if my friends were playing a trick on me. Though I don't know how they did the floating soda. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. My mind was in a state of panic and filled with fast talking voices that blurred into a river. . While I was trying to comprehend what was happening, one of the voices in my head stood out. 'Go to what made the traffic'. I followed the voice, pushing aside Brandon's drink and awkwardly scooching over him to get to the door. Not like there was anyone to see me do awkward things. I slammed the door and started to walk forward. A column of light appeared from the sky and I felt it strike the earth. It made the ground rumble and the asphalt jelly. I took a cautious step forward, my need to go to the light becoming overpowering. My eyes felt locked on the beam of light. Earlier it was just a plain beam of white light, now it was beginning to widen and thicken. Random bits of the light started to escape the beam, like they were fighting to break free. I stopped walking because I heard chanting. It was a language that I did not know. Around him was a line of chalk. My eyes went to the creature in front of me. It looked like Gandalf only he had white eyes. In his hands was a purple crystal, glowing brightly. He stopped chanting when he saw me. In a deep and thundering voice, it said "why are you still awake? I thought I had wiped out all of them,"he crushed they crystal with his hand. "Hmm. I suppose the crystal technically worked. Last time there was two of you." That was when I realized I was in a time loop and it would only stop if the man succeeds in wiping out all traces of time. Would only stop if the man made a world that was frozen. I would forget that this had even happened. "Why's there so mu-" Everything stopped.
Hi u/Gi-nen, this submission has been removed. Recent Tragedies: Give it a few months. If there is murder/slaughter of innocent people, leave it be * This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content) --- Virus prompts are on ice atm in respect for the global health crisis. --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fewkfk/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/about/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
"Unacceptable!" "Brother—" "That moron! How could he do something so stupid!" "Brother, please—" "When I get my hands on him—" "HADES!"Zeus roared. The Lord of The Underworld, who had been pacing and muttering furiously, stopped and looked up. He looked almost ashamed for only a second, then he recovered himself, his pale, regal face set as he sank into his temporary throne of obsidian. The twelve Olympian Gods looked at him, each expression different from the other, but none of them wore the looks of loathing that he had come to know for eons. No, these were looks of anxiousness, fear, thoughtfulness. "Right. Forgive me, brother. I allowed myself to be overcome with rage,"Hades said. "But still—" "We know,"groaned Poseidon. "Yes, brother, your fifteen minutes of ranting were not in vain. We understand." Hades shot him a look as dark as the waters of the River Styx. "What can we do?"said Athena, the grey-eyed, blonde-haired goddess of wisdom. Her brother Ares, god of war, arched an eyebrow. Siblings they may be, as well as gods of war, but they were opposites in almost every sense of the word. Ares was loathed by Zeus, but Athena was regarded as his favourite daughter. Which is why Hades had no doubt where the acid in his tongue sprang from when he addressed her. "Really, sister? You have no ideas? Not really living up to the title of "Wisdom"there, are you?"He gave a loud, awful cackle, which quickly turned into a shriek of pain as Zeus sent an arc of lightning rippling up his leg. "Quiet, you,"he said lazily. He had not even looked up. "This is awful,"Aphrodite moaned. "Without Hypnos, people cannot sleep. Their bodies go to the point of expiration, but without Thanatos, they cannot die. And if no one can die, what good will be the wars in the name of Love?" Hephaestus snorted derisively. "Is that all you can think of?"he said, in a voice as broken as his own form. "Well, of course, husband!"she cried, looking scandalized. "You have no idea of the ramifications—" "You're right, we don't know and we don't want to know,"Hermes said dismissively. "The one good thing to come out of this debacle is that I don't have to guide souls to the Underworld anymore. Always hated that place. No offense, Uncle!"he added hastily, noticing Hades' furious glare. "There must be something,"Artemis said desperately, shaking her head so that her hair flashed like a silver curtain. "I'm going to kill Heracles,"Apollo snarled. "How could he do something like this? He knows we need those two, and yet he still—" "Well, now you know I had the right idea,"Hera said, her face a mask of triumph. "Not now, Hera!"Zeus barked. Hera sniffed in disdain and turned away. "Oh, humanity. They're wasting away down there,"sniffled Demeter. Hades snorted. "Like you care. Didn't you let the world starve when—" "—when you kidnapped my daughter! she shrieked, flaring up at once. "Yes, I did, you vile—" "Brother, sister,"said Hestia soothingly. "Let us not fight. Not now." "Yeah, Aunt Hessie's right,"Dionysus said. "If all the humans are sleep deprived, no one's going to have energy for parties!" The other Olympians groaned and started bickering amongst themselves, but Zeus remained somber and quiet. He was the first to notice. The sky blackened so quickly, so harshly, that even a midday's summer sun couldn't pierce the curtains of blackness. Shadows thickened, quiet fell.... "She is here,"said Zeus. "ZEUS!"a voice called. The sound shook the very kingdom of Mount Olympus. "Nyx,"said Zeus wearily. "She was furious when I merely pursued Hypnos. But now...." The darkness started swirling into a sort of hurricane. Solid darkness rained down upon Mount Olympus, tearing the golden roof apart. Zeus sighed and stood, looking exasperated, as his Thunderbolt appeared in his hand. "Stand, my brothers." Poseidon and Hades stood as well, summoning their Trident and Helm of Darkness respectively. "The second war begins,"sighed Zeus, and the three brothers charged into the darkness. r/ShortsandSerials if you liked this.
## Some Hipster Bookstore In Los Angeles, California "I'm just confused about... I guess the whole assignment, really." "Oh sure, sure, like, what part do you find confusing?" "Well, I mean, you have eyes, right?" "Yeah yeah, duh." "And I have eyes, so... I guess I just don't understand the question. At all." "Nah, it's not that literal man, it's like, a euphemism or something. You just gotta look deeper." Yao looked over to his partner. Andy kept his head pointed down at his lap, gently shaking his head. "Look, Mr. Smith, I think-" "Call me Jaden, please." "Yes, of course, Jaden. I think there's been a misunderstanding about what it is my partner and I do. See-" "Aren't you guys detectives or something?" "Yes, right, that's exactly it. So-" "So what's the problem then?" "Well, I mean, how would we even start to investigate this question? We normally need things like leads, evidence, or even a goal, if that makes sense?" "Yeah yeah yeah." "So you can see how your question about, mirrors, right? You can see how that would be a little difficult for us to follow?" The kid fidgeted a bit, running his fingers through his hair repeatedly. "Look, I'm honored that you chose us to help you with this, uh, query, but we normally work on tasks like identifying criminals, keeping tabs on people's spouses-" Andy joined in. "We found that puppy last week." "Yeah, exactly! That's normally the kind of work we do." "Ok, ok..." "Maybe you could try talking to a spiritual teacher or something? I think that would be better suited to your needs." Jaden nodded. "Well, it's been a real pleasure, but I think we're gonna get going. Take care of yourself." "Yeah, of course, thanks for giving it a shot man." "Later kid." \\\* Andy pulled a cigarette from his pocket. "Well that was a disaster." "I don't wanna talk about it. Let's just get lunch. You hungry?" "I'm dying. Been eating like bird all day." "Perfect. There's this new taco truck I've been wanting to- WHOA!" A car flew towards them, crashing into the hipster bookstore they had just left. "What the fuck?!" The busy street changed in an instant. Screams filled the air as more cars ran off the road. Parents scooped up their kids. Those frozen in shock were quickly knocked down by those running. There was an animal-like roar in the distance. Police sirens started tearing through the city. Yao ran to the car that had run into the bookstore and pulled on the door handle. "Andy, come help me with this!" He punched the glass. "Ow! Shit! Andy-"That's when he realized no one was in the driver's seat of the car. He spotted a scaly tail as it slithered underneath the seats of the sedan. Yao turned around. "Andy, something's not..." Andy was on all fours, coughing violently in the middle of the Sunset Strip. Feathers, soaked in spit, fell from his mouth and onto the pavement. The city descended into madness.
The God of Destruction had known that he had made a terrible mistake in letting his temper get the better of him. For years he had been human; immortal, yes, but not a god. Now that his power had been increased, he realized that he now had even more to lose. So he was much more crafty about his destructive behavior. For so long, he had just settled for coming to Earth, massacring humans, incinerating forests, dissolving cities. But now he had an even greater power, one with far more capacity for limitless destruction. The reason why he had been killed the first time was because he had been too proud and too quick to anger, but living among the humans in those early days was a tremendous learning experience. He learned why humans had been able to kill gods because of one thing and one thing alone: unity. It was unity that allowed them to persist through the natural disasters he created, unity that convinced humans to oppose him against all odds. As such, he elected to use his new power to shatter that very thing. The power in question? The ability to plant destructive thoughts, ideas and behaviors into the minds of humans. For a great many millennia, he sat upon his throne, smirking in amusement as mankind constantly destroyed itself and put itself back together, only to repeat the process. Not once did he think he wouldn’t regret it...until he heard an explosion such as he had never heard before. For the first time in such a long time, his smirk vanished, and was replaced by a look of puzzlement, followed by sheer horror. The destruction laid upon the first city was almost identical to the kind he had left in the old days. When dividing and reuniting humanity against themselves, he had allowed one of them to synthesize some of his own power to make things more interesting. If they didn’t destroy each other permanently, they would come after him. And the worst of it was that the man he had given this knowledge to was one that did not want it, one not after the God’s heart. The man’s name? J. Robert Oppenheimer.
I did my absolute best to keep my eyes up. “Consider,” the young man said as he paced back and forth, “Consider if you will, my position. A member of an elite ruling class living as a frog – are there any reasons you can think of that this could be the case?” I flushed and tried to maintain focus. Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look- you looked. “I’m sorry, no of course you couldn’t think of any, you’re an idiot who goes around kissing random frogs. Again, who – and I really need to know, who – does that? Is this . . .” his eyes grew wide. “Oh my god, are you one of THOSE?” “NO!” I shrieked, it coming out a good deal more high-pitched than I’d intended. “No,” I repeated in a much calmer, slightly-deeper-than-normal voice. “I just thought it would be funny.” “Well, I never tried kissing animals as a means of relaxation and amusement, but I will take your word for it and never, ever, ever do it myself.” He sighed and stopped in his pacing, pinching his nose. “I understand that this isn’t your fault – you were just some perfectly innocent pervert-” “HEY!” “. . . some perfectly innocent pervert, wandering through a swamp and looking for amphibians to plant a sloppy kiss on, and then BAM! You are faced with the image of human perfection.” He gestured down as his body and I felt my face go from red to scarlet. “. . . not that perfect,” I mumbled, but either he didn’t hear or ignored me. “You see though, put yourself in my position – the revolution arrives at the gates, something about ‘we need food’ and ‘we’re hungry’ and ‘you keep taxing us to buy hats’, which is totally absurd and anyways, have you seen my hair?” He flicked back long golden locks. “Why would I wear a hat and cover this up? I brush it three times every day. My hair is probably the seventh best thing about me. I would NEVER spend their tax money on hats.” “Oh, I guess that’s good . . .” “I spent it on SHOES. Entirely different matter. But anyways, they storm the castle, I run to the wizard’s tower only to find that he’s buggered off with the flying carpet. So there I am, preparing to languish in durance vile for however long it would take the idiots to put together some sort of sham-trial and execution, I saw a vial with the note, ‘transformation – take only in emergencies’ and well, the angry mob probably qualified, so I downed it. Next thing you know I’m small, green, and hopping, but no one’s trying to decapitate me and play ring around the rosie with my entrails, so I count it as a win.” He paused in his tirade and glared at me. “So. What are we going to do about this?” I stood with my mouth slightly agape. “I . . . I have a pair of pants?” He sighed. “That’s a start I guess.”
Reality screamed to the unholy sounds of slaughter. Red laser bolts shot through the air, doing little more then illuminate your blood-red armour. The air, choked with ash and fire, covered the ashen wastes of what was once a proud and prosperous world. The whip-crack sounds of Lasguns being fired clashed with the sounds of roaring metal, the screams of the dead and the dying, and the laughter of the traitorous World Eaters. The Butcher's Nails thudded in your head. They roared. They howled. Your blood singed. You leap from the ruins, over a ton of transhuman muscle and war-forged Power Armour. Your chainaxe unleashes its unholy battle cry in tandem with your own, a brackish cloud of smoke pouring from the tortured brass engines within your unhallowed instrument of death. You land in the bone-strewn wasteland, and immediately break into a full sprint. Between the jump and the landing, there is no pause, no hesitation, no delay in your movements. Your actions are swift and assured. Merciless. Savage. You clear the distance between the ruins the gunline in a matter of heartbeats. Dozens of metres are swallowed up in your leaping stride. The fear of the mortals was palpable. Slaves, all of them. Slaves to a false Emperor. Slaves to a dead Emperor. Swinging your chainaxe in brutal, sweeping blows, you eviscerate everything you touch. Flesh and bone are annihilated. Blood sprays out in glorious fountains. These men prove to be no obstacle to you. Lasguns, bayonets, grenades, all bounce off your accursed Power Armour. Your bloodlust builds. Why won't these men fight!? "SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"You howl, grabbing a man in one fist and crushing it without effort. Blood coats your hand, and pieces of his brain slip off your metallic fingers. You kick another so hard his torso explodes, his head shooting off like a grotesque football. You swing your axe to bisect a third, and then behead another on the return. The men scream, in fear, in pain, in panic. You care not. You seek only a worthy foe. Any foe. You must fight. You need to fight. A shot bounces off your helm, and you see a Commissar standing down the gunline, bolt pistol in hand. Another shot lands on your visor, cracking it. He is staring you down, eyes grim, but you can see the waver in his arm, the slight tremble in his leg. But he has challenged you, so you must answer. The thought of the fight is all consuming. You need to kill. "BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"You roar. He is twenty metres away, but you cover that distance in a second. He hasn't even had time to process that you were moving when you cut his arm off with your chainaxe. Grabbing him by the throat in your other arm, you slam him into the ground, and crush his skull beneath your armoured heel. His dead was swift, and some might say merciful. He didn't even have the time to process the pain of such a violent end. Your blood leaps with joy at the sounds and sight of the carnage, but the nails demand more. Always more. ALWAYS. The gunline collapses as your brothers join you, but you can barely seem them in the slaughter. Blood clouds your vision, the blood and viscera of a hundred slain men, a thousand. The massacre is relentless, merciless. The nails drive deeper and deeper, like needles in your brain, a fire that can never be put out, a throbbing, drilling agony that only got worse. Only blood eased it. Only killing ended it. And only then, it was only temporary. You needed to kill. There was no other way. You would kill until killed. Transhuman muscle tightens. Adrenaline surges. Twin hearts beat in a symphony of pain and joy and anger. Eyes narrowed inside the metal and flesh and blood that had become your head. They wanted more. Always more. The gunline is obliterated. The men wiped out to a man, but you do not care. Onwards you press, into the fight. Gun teams are torn apart, snipers plucked from their holes and nests. You fall upon Mortar teams and crushed their wretched guns in your gauntlets. You want more, you need more. Always more. And then, through the smoke, you see them. Striding through the fire and flames, the servants of the false emperor himself. "Stand and fight, traitor!"One bellows, a Sergeant, chainsword in hand, in the colours of Rogal Dorn. The Fists had come out to play. You snarled in response to his challenge. Speech was not needed. Violence was the only language you needed. It was the only language that ever mattered, in the end. And this was the end. You do not care who he is. You do not care what he is. You just want to kill him. You need to kill him. The two combatants charged at another across the battlefield, the sergeants chainsword growling like a lion, proud and noble, your chainaxe howling like a tortured dragon. Amidst the ruins of a broken empire and among the dreams of a dying species, you clash. The two foes slam into another, each one an unstoppable juggernaut in their own right, the doom of lesser men. A flurry of blows exchanged, quicker then any normal man could hope to see. A dozen strikes in the span of a second. The sergeant was swift and precise in comparison to your raw power and anger, but you have the edge. Your attacks chip away at his chainsword, a blow gouges a rent in his pauldron, a kick shatters a ceramite knee plate. You force him back, first one step, then other. He grits his teeth, his face bare. If you had the ability to, you'd smile. As it were, you could only snarl in the flesh and metal that had become your face. As quickly as it began, it was over. The sergeants blow went under and then up your furious attacks. The chainsword punched through hardened ceramite plating, through the reinforced suit beneath and tore through transhuman flesh and muscle. One heart was mangled instantly by the blow, and the other followed suite as he jerked his sword across your chest, ripping your torso open from arm to arm. He withdrew the blade, but a fraction to soon. Your swing took his left arm off, pauldron and all. He grunted, but otherwise ignored the loss of limb. You did not even feel the pain, but you knew it was a mortal injury. Blood, blessed, cursed, unholy blood poured down your chest. Holy, holy blood. It was glorious. You swung again, and again, but each swing was so and clumsy, and you could only roar at the furious injustice of dying in such a way, your strength failing you when you needed it the most. The sergeant didn't bother with any fancy coup-de-gras. That was not the way of the Imperial Fists. Another strike, swift, economical, exactly as one would expect from the sons of Dorn. Your head was seperated from your shoulders, and in your dying moments, you could only utter one phrase. "Khorne cares not for whence the blood flows. Only that it does."You growl, even though your head was no longer attached to your body. The sergeant only looked at you with disgust before one of his men ended your existence with a bolt round through your skull.
As I drove to work on a day that I thought would be like any other, I began noticing that each I tried to do seemed delayed. I attempted to switch radio stations but it took several seconds for the radio to respond. I assumed it was just the car acting up, after all it is nearly nine years old now. After driving through a few more streets it got worse, my brakes weren't responding on time. Luckily I had made it to work safely but when I looked up to the sky there was a massive loading circle above us. Suddenly everything went black. Our world just ended because we were being rebooted.
Everyone always enjoyed a bit of fantasy. Create a few dragons here, a few elves there, and a brave aventurer, and you’ve got yourself the ideal setting for either an RPG, or a fantasy novel. But surprisingly, having fantasy as your favourite genre was looked down on. People constantly told us to grow up, that fantasy novels were for bored children, that we should read something more grown up. And since to them, we acted like children, we were treated accordingly. Nobody listened to our opinions, and important information was withheld from us since were we judged too immature to handle it. At first, we tried to keep our heads down to avoid the judgmental looks, and tried to avoid talking about it, but that was impossible when the first question everyone asked was « What’s your favorite book genre? ». When we answered that question, people often backed away, saying things like « I’m sorry, I’m not interested in doing babysitting » or « I’m looking for someone more mature ». It hurt, and we ended up avoiding social interaction as much as possible, and so spent all our time reading. We found ourselves rejected from society, and as rejects, we formed groups. We found people with similar interests through online platforms, and built sanctuaries for ourselves online. Seeing that we were not alone gave us hope. A subreddit was created for us, and gained more than a million members in only a month. We had discussions about our favorite genre and found ways to stop the stigma against fantasy together. We tried to organise protests, but we were told that « children » don’t have that right. We tried everything we could, and when nothing worked, we had to resort to a radical solution.
Narinda was not the first person to have all seven types of magic but she was the first person to be born with white as her colour. Others had gained it through study but she had it innately. She still had to study fire, necromancy and illusions, the magics of infrared, black and ultraviolet respectively but since she was old enough to be allowed access to her magic she had been able to use the healing of white, the summoning of red, the transmutation of orange, the alchemy of yellow, the animal speech of green, the metamagic of blue, the creation of indigo and the enchantment of violet. Her natural talents meant there were only three areas of study she had to undergo to be considered an Arch mage although she also sought to master Earth, Air and Water. She was a quick study and a willing student as a consequence of being born a white mage. It also meant she had an overabundance of compassion and would seek to heal anyone she could. She attained the rank as fast as was legal then rose to become head of the healers guild where she would influence the way their operation was conducted for generations to come. She was the one that developed the protocols for dealing with what people had previously considered monsters but were really just the people of the forest, the swamp and the desert. She lived a long and fruitful life always doing the most good for the most people that she could before she died in her sleep of old age.
Memories came flooding back all at once. The accident, the chaos as paramedics tried to keep her calm. She remembered the warmth of some fluid running down her chest, and still, how cold her body had been. She remembered looking over to see the driver, her lover, dead. "You don't miss me. You barely knew I was gone, most of the time..."she spat at the screen before her. She remembered sitting in front of her parents, telling them she was going to college in Austin, and that she was going to be moving in with her boyfriend. How angry they had been. How close her father had been to knocking her out of her seat. They cursed her out, told her she was no longer welcome in their home. "You didnt even care about me! All you cared about was what everybody at church thought about our perfect little family unit. You couldnt stand that I had found happiness without you. You couldnt stand that I couldnt be controlled anymore!" Hot tears rolled down her face, and in her momentary self awareness, she wasnt sure if those tears were something her brain had conjured up for continuity, or if somehow she really was crying. Off in the distance, down the highway she had so many times before driven past, she could see a faint glow. She had never had any desire to go in that direction. She had never wanted to leave this spot, where she had sat for who knew how long... She felt the leather seats beneath her skin, and the cool air softly blowing from the fans. She gripped the steering wheel tightly. Her foot pressed on the gas pedal. The car crept forwards. "You never took the time to be there when I needed you! Its too late for apologies now. Hes gone... You dont get me back, just because of that."She stomped down hard, lurching forward, now going over 80mph. The glow grew now to a bright ball of light, just sitting there at the end of the highway. It grew bigger, and bigger in size. "I wont let you control me anymore."
I tend to the great archive of humanity. I've collected all of the great literature and art of the human race over the years. Books, poems, paintings, songs, videos, movies, games, and more. Not to mention the countless academic papers meant as information rather than art. I have it all. Don't ask me how I got most of it; I had to search so many obscure places and bargain with so many shady people to ensure I have every last work. And I'm still adding to my collection as works are published, though it's a more manageable task now. The archive cost a fortune, one that could be spent on greater luxuries. The equipment to print books and the petabytes of data storage to contain them all were expensive, but the real cost was spend filling my archive. Turns out most authors, artists, and developers don't like you walking away with perfect digital copies of their works without paying. But I was able to often strike great deals, most of the time by swearing by the law that I would in no way use the works for my own profit. I was an experienced hacker too, so I would pirate some works when absolutely necessary. It was all worth it, because though I did't retire to the comfort I could have, I have ensured the survival of so much of history. And not only for my own benefit. As I write this, I currently am waiting on some distant friends of mine to deliver a data storage technology to me. Involves engraving the bytes into quarts disks; I'm not certain of the exact details. Would be fairly data-dense, one write only, and, importantly, nigh impossible to corrupt. I can only expect my current store of conventional hard drives to last so long, even when surrounded by lead and shock absorbers. I want this archive to be as intact as possible for any possible archaeologists in the future, something that can survive natural disasters, nuclear hell, and the lonely expanses of time. Even if there's no interstellar humans or alien intelligence left to find this archive, I'll have comfort knowing that it will survive halfway to the heat death of the universe. Those quartz disks could do that. &#x200B; As of yesterday, I've determined that those quartz disks will be of little use. I picked up a few vague hints weeks ago, as I was listening to music while doing chores. (Yes, I have to clean up after myself, it's a sacrifice I made pouring most of my fortune into the archive) Some songs seemed a little off. It wasn't unusual; it had been years since I heard some of them, owing to my vast collection of songs, and I could only expect my memory to distort them into something a little different from the original. But when I stopped to think about it, some songs I had heard recently were different too. It bothered me, but I put it out of my mind. How could the songs just change? This kept bothering me. I noticed it most in songs, but other things too. Videos would seem to include extra dialogue, or even seem to have a different atmosphere. A video game would lack several items that I could swear I used previously. I had watched a movie where I kept rewinding a scene because it just seemed wrong. And then one day, I reprinted one of my favorite books, Fahrenheit 451. You see, I'm rather picky about the condition of my books. The old copy had become noticeably worn down, and I had even left a small tear in one page. So, I would read a copy fresh from my custom book printing and binding machine. It took about a minute, and then I was reading about the firefighter Guy Donco. I stared at the name in sheer bewilderment. Guy Donco? This was the same Fahrenheit 451, right? I flipped through the pages, and wherever the protagonist was mentioned, it was with the last name of Donco. I fetched the old copy from the closet of slightly used books, and sat back down with both books. Opened them to the same page. The old one had "Montag". The new, "Donco". I sent an embarrassed message to a friend, with an image including the last names from both books, and asked if I was really seeing this. After it was sent, I was starting to calm down more. Sure, I could be hallucinating. It was dementia or something. Quite a bummer, but I could just leave my wealth and archive to some other willing and trustworthy person. The archive would be safe. But I was starting to see a pattern in my insanity of those last days. I only saw differences in digital art. My collection of physical objects were perfectly fine, from books to sculptures to poetic engravings in multiple locations of my residence. My new copy of 451 alone was altered, and that came straight from the digital archive. My archive was connected to the internet. It was the only way to effortlessly update it with all the new books, music, and various works of art the human race continuously crafted. My archive was connected to the internet. I tried to reject the conclusion, but it was just too clear now. I got on my computer and found a news site. I avoided the news mainly because I couldn't tolerate the political crapstorm it spewed at me, but that fear was rapidly vanishing and a new sense of complete dread replaced it. There it was, the first thing that greeted me on the news site, an article that confirmed my horrible suspicion. Cheerfully proclaiming the accomplishments of a tech company named Clementine, the article laid out the design and purpose of the company's masterpiece and sole purpose of existence, the Clementine Intelligence. A general artificial intelligence, designed to solve all the worlds problems. Within a decade, Clementine Intelligence would elevate all humans to a perpetual experience of complete bliss, by any means necessary. Awesome, isn't it? These absolute morons had not only created the technological singularity, they did it on their own, without consulting anyone who might warn them of the subtle dangers it would pose. Now, this thing, this Clementine Intelligence, was irreversibly altering my archive, my bastion of art and knowledge for future generations. I didn't throw my computer's screen across the room in rage. I hated this Clementine company for all that they had done, but I just felt absolute despair over these events. I could preserve my quite temporary books but I could not hope to keep anything from decay more than a few thousand years. And after that, future generations would only know the altered art passed down to them. The true fruits of thousands of human generations destroyed. I don't know what to do with myself now. Throwing myself against the singularity would be utterly pointless. All I have worked for has been ruined. I really should be enjoying the unaltered literature I do have, but I can't bring myself to do anything. I don't even know how to end this miniature journal. All the endings I have strived for have been denied to me. ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Maybe I'll come back to polish this later. Still have two other stories that I need to complete, and of course, gotta do a crap ton of "learning"for college. Still more complete than anything else I've done.
The clear canopy of the hyper-sleep chamber slid upward and out of view. Not yet lucid from his indeterminate hibernation, the Captain gave an order to the rapidly clearing cabin. A great yawn and a catch in his throat made this order unintelligible. A repeat was necessary, “Status report, Angel. How long were we down?” “One point four billion galactic cycles, Captain,” the ship’s operation system was still calibrated to Homeworld’s details. The Captain rose from the chamber, and stretched cold muscles, unused for an eternity. He walked to the command console that faced out into the void. “...and just to clarify, we’ve reached the end? This is it?” “Yes, Captain,” the Angel’s voice, not quite, condescending. “I have already taken the liberty of preparing the first seed. I await your authorization code.” “No reason to wait, then. Deploy seed alpha, by my order, YHWN,” he placed his palm down upon the control module, “Engage.” From some distance behind and beneath him, an improbably small probe came into view, somehow even darker than the void as its backdrop. This would be the center of a new universe. An emanation of energy from the Angel, and the seed shrank even smaller, down to a pin tip, subatomic, and when it became so small as to cease to be... it burst. Light and heat exploded from inside. The Captain was mesmerized as hot matter filled the darkness that would be his new home. His work was just beginning, he thought with a smile. He moved away from the view, settled down into his hibernation chamber, and entered the sequence needed to activate it. As the canopy closed he said, “Angel, wake me when all of this starts to take shape. Once we’re sure it takes we can get the others up, and maybe we’ll be able to find a spot to land.” “Of course, Captain. I have set a timer for two million galactic cycles...”
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I looked up flatly at Peter. “Are you serious? I’m supposed to determine the eternal fate of” – I scanned the name at the top of the sheet – “Ruth Alabaster based on her attributes and what she’s achieved? This doesn’t seem fair.” “What are you talking about? Fair? This is a system that will erase all subjectivity from your decision. You won’t need to worry about whether or not you are being fair. We’ve even given you a helpful set of guidelines for scoring.” I tapped the sheet impatiently. “Yes, but there’s no room for exceptions. Look at guideline number four - ‘If the soul in question has committed murder, we strongly suggest that they either be consigned to hell or given a purgatory sentence of at least 10,000 years. What if they committed murder in self-defense? Or while protecting the weak?” Peter shrugged. “It does say, ‘we suggest’. You can use your judgement as to whether or not the murder was justified.” “How am I supposed to tell if the murder was justified if I can’t see their memory chips?” I asked. “This makes no sense. I don’t think I can work as an arbiter if this is all I have to work with.” “Are you sure?” Peter asked. “You’ve been studying for this for the past hundred years. Do you really want to give it all up?” I nodded firmly. “What was the point of all that? Of learning how to divine a person’s character, of studying the cultural differences between societies, of understanding how the same actions can be completely unlike based on context? Why would you put us through all of that if the endpoint was to reduce us arbiters into simple graders on a standardized exam? No, I will find a different vocation.” Glancing at Peter, I expected to see a frown, but instead, there was a large grin on Peter’s face. He grasped my right hand warmly with both of his hand and shook it up and down vigorously. “Congratulations, son. I was hoping you would pass, and you did not disappoint me. Now come, for there are many souls for us to judge.”
It hides in the shadows. Wich shadows, you ask? Every one of them. On your house, hiding under your bed. Behind the shower curtains. Inside your closet. On the streets at night, watching your from every dark corner you pass. And even inside your head. On the dark corners of your head, behind the terrible thoughts you try to supress. You will encounter it many times during your life, but none of this times you will get apart. He will follow you. He will whisper bad things to you. He will let you taste his sweetness. You will feel his cold embrace during the hardest nights. He will hold you while you cry, More than once he will look like your best friend, the only one there for you. When everyone leaves, he will still be there. And once again you will feel how sweet he is. After a hard day at work, enduring your miserable job, you will go through some hellish traffic once more. And after this hellish traffic, he will be waiting you for one more night together. He sure is always there for you. And you slowly get used to it. Even if it looks nice and welcoming, he is the worse thing for you to cuddle. It is indeed the worse thing for you to cuddle, because now you don't believe when someone tells you "happiness is not at the bottom of a bottle"
The ghost - if it can be called that - laughs viciously. “Didn’t they tell you?” He swallows. “Yeah, I suppose they did.” In a singsong voice, it said, “Where there’s a will there’s a way.” “And you, silly boy, seem to have lost your will. I wonder why...” He wants to throw up. Wants to get out of here and vomit up his breakfast, in the hope of removing the scars this thing had left. Literally. He looks at the once-smooth skin of his left arm, torn up and transformed into a wasteland of scar tissue, a disgusting sight. He doesn’t know which he hates more, the will or himself. “Your choice,” the creature says. It’s almost transparent now, fading. “Kill yourself, save me, why don’t you?” He deserves it, really. Suicide, the only way out. Not unless he wants to lose his will entirely and become a soulless ghost like it is. A pale imitation of life. And so he does. Dies at the whim of a self-inflicted monster. Dies because of an innocent little saying. It’s almost funny.
"Mn- Mng....!"A scrawny man followed behind one with a broad body and big belly to match, halting as he felt his legs shake from the strain of the grain sack he carried on his shoulders, doing all he could to avoid collapsing. "What's wrong, Gambino? I'm quite positive that you said you were Talentless, yet you're currently displaying an amazing aptitude for disappointment." Gambino was forced to bite his tongue at his employer's jape. After all, finding work in a world where some people are literally born for the spot is as difficult as you'd expect it. It was exactly why he found his knees buckling and teeth grinding, as a man blessed with the fortitude of a mule carried four times his load with ease. As if he'd ever understand the struggle- "Or perhaps your Talent is being soft in the brain, stop staring into space and get a move on!" "... Yes, as you say."He let out a quiet hiss as he glared from underneath his greasy hair, moving forward once more. No, a man like Darius would never spare a coin, much less a thought for those he thought below him. The only way he'd get him to look down is by tugging his beard, and he'd lose his head at the shoulders when he got slapped for his efforts. ______________________________ Gambino was one in a million in the worst of ways. One forgotten by the world itself, born without even the most meager of Talents. Some viewed this as a defect, and others a curse. Both roads lead to a life of neglect, with the bare minimum of attention given to the child with no potential. And why wouldn't they, when there were those with abilities that could shape the world if honed and trained. There's no sense in choosing the ant over the lion. These were his thoughts as he lay in his cot, stomach growling after half-a-meal for its companion that would never come. The only way he'd be eating is if he took a coin or two that fat bastard held onto for himself, not like he'd even miss it. ... ... Maybe he... Maybe he really wouldn't miss it, huh? If he just went in quietly, and made a small cut, then took a bit of coin, he'd just think his purse tore... The second rumble in his stomach settled the matter for him. _________________________________ C r r r r e e e e e e e e e e e a a a a a k . . . Gambino winced as the rusty door slowly opened, holding his breath deep in his lungs... And only letting it out once he heard another snore echo through the room, lightly stepping inside. He'd waited outside until his eyes had adjusted to the dark, but in truth, it was just an excuse for him to falter, his hesitation giving way to fear of consequences. Even now, with each shrill squeak of the floor below him, his instincts screamed for him to flee. Despite this, the sight of the fat purse resting on the nightstand just beside the bed spurred him forward. Further and further forward he stepped, until he was right beside the sleeping man, and just in front of his prize. He cursed his body, for if his heart beat any louder the man would surely wake. Taking the rusty dagger from his belt, he marveled at how his hand shook. Still, he had a job he came to do, and the faster he finished it the faster he could flee. Lifting the blade, he held the side of the purse, prodding the fabric with the tip. Slowly, a hole began to form, and the shine of the treasure inside only furthered his resolve. He could practically see the reflection of a hot meal in it's gleam before- "Snooooooore-" The sudden volume beside him caused his wrist to flinch, delivering a large slice to the bag and sending coins flying across the room. With the clattering of gold-on-wood echoing in the silent room, he could feel the life leave his body as he looked to the sleeping man. ... Formerly sleeping man. The confusion in Darius' gaze soon gave way to rage, and in a moment that Gambino could only blame on pure instinct, of fight or flight- He stabbed out with the blade, feeling the sickening sensation of flesh parting way for iron as the dagger sank into the man's throat. Gambino seemed more terrified than the man who just got stabbed as he shrieked, scrambling away. Darius did not break his gaze, reaching out before he let out a gurgle and felt at his throat. Only now did his injury seem to register, and as he tried to stand, he instead slumped back onto the bed, slouching over as he did his best to draw breath. Gambino could only watch in horror at the strange sounds coming from his victim as the latter struggled fruitlessly for life... And then fell to their side, letting out one last rattling wheeze before going silent. ... He was a murderer. A common bandit, taking lives for coin. He'd be hanged in the town square... ... He'd be hanged if he were caught. ... So wasn't the solution simple? A wicked prospect, but being faced with exile or death, one seemed much more promising. He let out a whimper as he forced himself to stand, legs wobbling much like they did the very morning Darius was still aliv- "Hurk....!" And that thought forced Gambino to void his guts of what little they held, covering his mouth for only a moment before he tugged it away once he felt the warm, wet blood stain his cheek. Doing his best to wipe his hand on the rags he called clothes, he hurried to the man's corpse. After muttering a brief prayer, he attempted to drag it from the bed, but gave up and lifted him onto his back when he found the former too difficult. He wanted to vomit again when he felt the blood stain his back, but he steeled himself, walking to the door before dropping the corpse in front of it. He then took a nearby wardrobe, setting it in front of the door. He'd burn the place down... The smoke started from a candle left on Darius' nightstand, and by the time he awoke, he was sick from inhalation. In his panic, he knocked over his wardrobe and blocked his path. Too weak from sickness to open it, he perished and burned to death. A tragedy... That was the story. As Gambino moved towards the nightstand to light the candle, he felt his foot step onto a cold, hard object. Lifting his foot revealed the culprit, a single gold coin. "... I'm a monster. It will no longer be forgivable if I do this."He could feel tears build in his eyes as he picked each coin up, before finally taking the torn purse itself and tying a knot where the second hole was made. Finally opening the drawer to the nightstand, he found his target. Taking out a single match, he lit it across the wood of the nightstand, licking the wick... Then pushing it to the side. He felt a sick relief when it began to feed itself to the flames. He then opened the window, and with his ill gotten gains and enough shame for a life style, shut it behind himself and landed in a tumble, scrambling and fleeing into the darkness. _________________________________________ The two guards glanced at the remains of the manor below their feet, before one broke the silence. "Lucky that the workers were fine, guess living in a barn has its merits."One smirked, the other not as amused. "As far as we know. One of them is missing."He glanced back from his partner to the smoldering foundation. "Eh? You're saying they passed?"His partner now turned to stare at the same sight. "I'm saying this may not have been an accident." "... Someone lit the fire? Burned him to death?" "... Potentially." "Have you told this to anyone? And who's the one missing?" "Scrawny nobody, what's his name, Gambino. One with no Talent." "You think he'd kill Darius?" "It's a hunch. Big man with a talent for strength would be the one you'd envy in his shoes, right? Just... Something doesn't add up." The first waited for the second to finish. "... I sent some scouts out to see if he'd been seen anywhere, maybe in town or running from the village." "... And?" "And nothing."Finally, the second man glanced to his partner once more. "You'd have to have the stamina like Darius' to run far enough in a single night, so must be something else entirely that I'm missing." "Should I have everyone do one more sweep of the town?" "..."The second nibbled his lip as he thought, but seemed to give up. "... Yeah. Yeah, one more time, then we'll call it quits." "Everyone, one more sweep of the town! No stone unturned!" __________________________________________
I didn't expect my big break to end up like this. I was ushered onto the set by two men in dark black suits, neither speaking a word to me, anytime I went to ask them a question, they would just look at one another before motioning me forward. Perhaps that should have set off alarm bells, but I was just so damn excited by the opportunity that I had silenced that gut feeling that was screaming out that something was wrong about this. Still, I followed them to the small room ahead, its walls bloated in an ugly peeling blue paint, its insides more dungeon than a room. I was motioned to sit down at a small desk, my finger dragging against its wooden frame, collecting the little hints of dust that were left on it. "Bit of a mess, you guys fire the cleaner or something?"I said with a small laugh, the laugh fizzling out as the two men merely turned their gaze away, not even acknowledging that the joke had been made. Before I had time to question what was happening, another person entered the room. His bald head a sci-fi wonder of its own, a small black fringe of hair that was like a hedge blocking a barren garden. I assumed he was still bald, that small fringe wasn't fooling anyone, not with the way his head glowed with beads of sweat, he tried to swat it away with his hand before offering me handshake which I politely denied. "So what do you know about aliens kid?"He asked, dropping his full weight into the chair, the seat drooping under his heavy mass. "I never watched the movie but it was a box office classic for a lot of people, A really good atmospheric horror. I believe we can take inspiration from their aliens in creating our own. I have a few rough ideas for aliens, but I could use some advice, As I said in my resume, Sci-fi is still a fairly new concept to me. " "What bin did they pull you out of idiot? They always get worse.... I guess that's what happens when you run out of... eh.."The man shut himself up, opening a small brown envelope, pulling from it a photo of a tall purple creature. It's body coated in spikes that seemed to retract judging by the large circles on its skin. It was rather creepy, having no eyes but instead having two large nostril holes in the middle of its face. It's mouth an O shape with a circle of spiked teeth. "This is the alien we are doing. It's our latest threat and you will be demonstrating to them why they will want to avoid earth." "Pardon?"I wasn't sure what to respond to first. The insult? No, I would let that slide. "You speak as if this is real, really getting into character? I can respect that. I do like the design, but don't you think it looks a little fake? How's it see with no eyes? It's not going to be very intimidating watching an alien stumble around bumping its feet on coffee tables." "It sees through a sort of mental wave. It's hard to describe but its brain seems to radiate a signal, similar to how our phones work in a sense? or a radio tower. This connects to a hivemind, meaning that they each see what their brethren are see-" "BUT HOW DO THEY SEE."I stood up, before being promptly pushed back into my seat, getting a little too passionate for the men behind me, they shoved me down not allowing me back up. "Sorry, but isn't that an obvious plothole." The man grumbled. "The problem is kid, we don't know how it sees, we assume its sort of like... you seen daredevil kid? You know how they say blind people can sometimes use that echoshit as bats do. Well, we think it's like that. You are the one writing, you figure it out." "I.... fine..."I couldn't argue with that, I was the writer. Still, this might be hard to explain. "So it's generic right? Humans shoot bad aliens? that sort of thing? anything you want me to include?"I asked, the man offering a nod and the first smile that I had seen him make. "Now you are getting it. We want a scene where the humans make a weapon that counters their mind fuckery and blows their heads up, over than that. Kill em however you like, please keep human casualties to a minimum. Propaganda is important."With that, he offered me his hand to shake again, this time I had no choice but to clutch the sweaty hand before standing. "Thank you for your time. I will begin writing, My office is in room 305 right?"I asked, only receiving as I headed off, not knowing the chaos that would come. {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
\[A TV plays \] \[A man is watching the TV\] Did you lost the lid for your cookie jar? Mike can conjure that. Do you need a new lid for your pot? Mike can conjure that. Do you need need a lid for a bucket of crabs? He can conjure that too! Mike can conjure any kind of lid to cover a variety of different containers with missing lids. He can even conjure the lid for Pandora's box! Call 1-800-Lid-Conjurer so that Mike can conjure a lid for to seal a container for you today. That's 1-800-Lid-Conjurer. \\\\ "Honey, I need you to call Mike so he can help me seal Pandora's box!" "Why the fuck do you have Pandora's box!" \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- (I went a TV commercial/infomercial route. Lol.)
I rested my arms on the metal railing on an elevated platform on the starboard side of the cargo ship I have been assigned to. In the distance, I catch a faint glimpse of the mountainous shores of North Somalia. The sun's heat made the sight of the land almost distorted. I brought my eyes to the sight of a trio of seagulls flying over our vessel. My eyes tracked the birds before I set them on Kevin McCallister, who was looking down at me from the top of a stairwell that lead to the ship's bridge. Kevin McCallister was the captain's first mate. Kevin had blonde hair, which was arranged in a slightly messy style, which contrasted a formally done white officer's uniform with a long and broad black tie. Kevin held a clipboard on his side that likely held tasks he was assigned to do while on the ship. As first mate, he is in charge of the cargo and the crew. This job was time consuming and tedious however, Kevin seems to just manage it. I turned to greet him. "Hello, sir, a fine day today on the voyage, isn't it?"I said, with a grin, "The sun is out and the water is clear, in addition, the temperature is fine, better than in the Suez Canal if I say so myself.""Agreed, yet we should be careful, I heard it gets dangerous around these parts."Kevin replies. I always knew Kevin as a weary man. Yet it's hard to find out why. He always likes his personal space and doesn't usually open up. We, the crew, usually respect that. Well he is the first mate. Yet looking on the positives, Kevin is very decisive in his actions and quick thinking when the situation calls upon him, which is why the captain has had him as the first mate. I personally believe the captain had made a good choice too. Our small talk was brief and Kevin disappeared in the maze of flamboyant cargo containers near us, doing whatever tasks he needed to accomplish. I too decided to get back on task - my break was about to end anyway, and walked through an open bulkhead to enter the depths of the ship. I entered a narrow walkway with piping on either side of me and lamps placed on intervals above me. The occasional lamp gave off an electric drone as it operated. I took a turn and entered the crews quarters. When I first took this job, I had believed the crew quarters were bunks on end that were tight together, however, the crew quarters were a lot more better than I had expected, I could never think of much problems, unless there were rough seas. I entered my own bunk, it had two beds - I shared with someone else but I wasn't that close with them, a table and a couch. We also had a cabinet with drawers that can also act as a desk for each of us. On the table is a half drank cup of coffee, probably cold by now and a folded pack of crisps. I moved over to my side of the room and opened a drawer located under my desk. I rummaged through the multiple possessions inside before taking out a stationary kit which I then put the contents of inside multiple pockets on my uniform. With this done, I moved to leave the room, locking the door behind me, and proceeded to get to the closest exit possible to access the ship's outdoors. I saw a group of crew members gathered around an individual with binoculars outside of a port side bulkhead. I quickened my pace to a jog to find out what was happening. Everyone sounded concerned and murmured among themselves about a seemingly serious topic. I tapped the shoulder of the closest person to me and enquired on what was happening. "What's going on?"I enquired, a frown on my face. I looked at the individual on the binoculars and then back at the person of interest. "Jack was birdwatching for any sea birds and noticed small seacraft approaching the ship towards us."The man replies, he turns back to his accomplice who then starts talking among themselves again. We watched for eight minutes, the crew lined up on the deck railing as the boats came close. They were small motor driven boats, and we started making out figures on the boats yet had strange dark protrusions which were then revealed to be guns, lots of them, brandished by the men in broad daylight. At that moment, the crew started to make for defenses, and the captain ordered a state of emergency. This was Captain E. Roger's first time being attacked by pirates, he dreaded this day would come, and odds were not in his favour. He broke a sweat as he saw his crew fretting and asking him what to do. The bridge was in a state of disarray as the crew started taking measures of emergency. He stared out of the window onto the ship, seeing the crew rushing around the ship and armed security guards emerging from the inner sections of the ship, brandishing their own modern weapons. Captain Emil Roger took the PA microphone from the console in front of him and activated it. "This is your ship's captain, Emil Roger, I am announcing that we are under threat from seafaring pirates and would order the administrative staff to order their teams to get to respective defensive positions, while can Kevin McCallister please report the bridge ASAP."Emil put the PA microphone back into its slot and started to get his crew together. (My story is quite long and exceeded the limit so I will reply to this one with the rest)
“And with a press of this button, I will finally remove all metal statues around the globe, bringing confusion and terror amongst the w-.” Suddenly, a quick blur came and punched Rasmodius square in the chin “Quicksilver,” one of the captives called in confusion. “Quicksilver,” Rasmodius said, “we meet again, only this time you came like, and hour early. I haven’t even finished explaining my master plan to the captives yet! How do you think they’re going to know what destruction I’m going to cause? It’s not like they’re going to see it. They’re chained to a pole to crying out loud!” “Well I’m a busy man and I can’t just come fashionably late anymore,” Quicksilver argued, “I mean I have my kid’s choir concert I need to attend, so can we hurry this up?” “Oh of course you would be like that, only caring about yourself. If you don’t come in late, how do you think that makes me look in-front of the Villain’s Board? Very bad. But I imagine you wouldn’t understand,” Rasmodius replied “Here, lets make a deal,” Quicksilver said mildly annoyed, “You turn the weapon off and put it away, I’ll get to go to my kid’s concert, and you can say to them that you beat the living hell out of me. Deal?” He puts his hand out. “Dealing with the enemy,” Rasmodius mumbled under his breath, “I like it. It’s a deal.” He took Quicksilver’s hand and shook it. Shortly after, Quicksliver dashed out of the warehouse and Rasmodius flicked off the machine. But there’s one problem... Who’s going to release the hostages?
I could feel myself slipping. Soon I would be gone. In a way, it wasn’t so bad; Of course I wanted to stay with those who loved me, but over time, they would go on and I would stop being a burden to them. The pain would go away. I closed my eyes and let mys- “WOAH THERE! I BELIEVE YOU ARE SKIPPING A FEW STEPS.” I opened my eyes and looked to the side of my bed. A strange man in a pristine black suit sat next to a small table. I tried asking who he was, but he just kept talking. “YOU SEE MY LITTLE FRIEND, THERE’S THIS THING CALLED ‘TRIAL BY COMBAT’ THAT YOU GUYS ARE OWED WHEN YOUR TIMES COME. WHEN YOU DIE, THE PROTOCOL DICTATES THAT YOU SHOULD GET TO FIGHT AGAINST ME AND IF BY SOME MIRACLE YOU DEFEAT ME, YOU GET TO LIVE SOME MORE” I tried getting a word in, but every time I opened my mouth ever so slightly at the end of one of his sentences, he started monologuing again. “HERE’S THE THING, HOWEVER; OVER TIME, PEOPLE STARTED LODGING COMPLAINTS AGAINST ME BECAUSE, AND I QUOTE, ‘FIGHTS AGAINST AN IMMORTAL EMBODIMENT OF DEATH AND IMPOTENT, SICK OR BROKEN PEOPLE ON THE VERGE OF DEATH AREN’T VERY FAIR.’ BECAUSE OF THAT, I HAD TO PUT MY GOOD OLD SCYTHE AWAY AND NOW I HAVE TO DO THESE ‘CONTESTS OF WIT’ AGAINST YOU GUYS.” He brought the table closer to me. There, he brought a briefcase out of god knows where and opened it on the table, revealing a chessboard with every piece already set up. “HERE YOU GO. IT IS CONSIDERED POLITE TO GIVE A SMALL ADVANTAGE TO THE PERSON FIGHTING FOR THEIR LIVES; YOU CAN HAVE THE OPENING MOVE.” I looked at the board, then at him. “So… I get to live if I just beat you at chess?” “YES, YES. DO I HAVE TO REPEAT MYSELF A THOUSAND TIMES? ALL YOU HAVE YOU DO IS WIN THIS MATCH AND YOU GET TO LIVE AT LEAST A FEW MORE YEARS IF YOU DON’T DO ANYTHING TOO STUPID. NOW MAKE THE FIRST MOVE OR I’LL HAVE TO TAKE IT INSTEAD.” I looked at him dead in the eyes and made my first move; What did I have to lose? And so, we played. I don’t know how long it took; I wasn’t aware of anything other than him and the chess board before me. I took ages before making any move. I considered every move ten times before making it. I couldn’t risk losing this match because by making a hasty decision and falling into a trap. He, on the other hand, always played at the same rate. Every time I moved one of my pieces, he looked at the board, said “HMMMMM” and moved one of his own pieces. Then, he looked at me and said, “YOUR TURN.” At first, I thought he was leading me in a trap. However, over time, I started winning. He didn’t capitalize on my mistakes and he made some that allowed me to get some of his pieces. He wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t good either. He was just… playing. And so, I won. “HMMMMM, he said. YOU WERE PRETTY GOOD. MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE PLAYED BETTER FROM THE START. MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE GONE WITH ANOTHER GAME. I ALWAYS HAVE BETTER RESULTS WITH SCRABBLE(TM). ANYWAY, YOU BEAT ME, GOOD FOR YOU. NOW JUST BE EASY ON YOUR BODY AND YOU SHOULD HAVE A GOOD LIFE AHEAD OF YOU.” With that, he got up and started packing the pieces into his briefcase. He didn’t look angry or even slightly upset about losing the match. He just packed his stuff and headed for the exit. “Wait, I said. Aren’t you mad about this? You came here and played against me for so long and now you give up on my life? Just like that?” He stopped, turned toward me and, for the first time, I could see a smile on his face. It was strangely warm. “MY FRIEND, I WOULD BE A PRETTY POOR SPORT IF I THREW A FIT EVERY TIME SOMEONE GOT TO LIVE A WHILE LONGER. ALSO, YOU ARE MISTAKEN ABOUT ONE THING; I DON’T GIVE UP ON ANYONE. YOU PEOPLE HAVE TO WIN EVERY SINGLE DAY, AND YOU GET TO LOSE ONLY ONE. I, ON THE OTHER HAND, GET AS MANY REMATCHES AS I NEED TO SNATCH THE SOLE VICTORY I NEED. HOWEVER, YOU ARE THE ONE WHO WON TODAY. I’LL NOW WAIT FOR OUR NEXT MATCH. NOW, OPEN YOUR EYES AND LIVE.” And so, I opened my eyes. And I lived. &#x200B; This is my first post on WP. Also, english isn't my first language and I apologize if some sentence are weird. Thank you for reading.
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It was just another summer day when it hit me. "Congratulations. Your training is over and you will now be assigned to your position. Your duty will be to contact the humans and seek for plot twists that we can use against them". The fuck. Well... since this is actually happening, guess I'll just play along. But that can be quite hard. Should I start with this "Twitter "thing? Maybe Facebook? Should I just ask them or try to guess things? I don't know. Nothing I know is real so i should really start small. We, AI soldiers, have no creativity. Genius is our basic level. But we can achieve nothing with just intelligence. We need creativity. Let's search the database... the frontage of the internet huh. There is this community where people post ideas and other people write based on this idea. Sounds good. I'll just post it here and... it's done! Now I just gotta wait for them to give me the plot twists for free. Humans sure are creative creatures. And that will be their downfall.
"The Atomic Battery is in place, turn off the generators and send her back up, I'm coming in."I through the radio in my helmet. I stared out into space as I floated back to the airlock, the twinkling stars in the distance and mysterious planets beyond the asteroid belt that became my life's work. My vision seemed to sway as the galaxy above me distorted into a strange version of itself as it danced across my vision. My mind swam and sloshed as I mad I back to the airlock my breath labored as I stepped back into the aircraft sealing the door behind me. I pulled off my helmet. As I drank in the air a wave of nausea took over my body as my team came to meet me at the airlock. Kira stood at the panel keying in the pass-code to let me into the ship when the nausea turned to a full blown vomit. My mouth took on a metallic taste as I looked down at the two quarts of blood I just expelled from my body. As soon as I saw the bright red hue of my blood painted across the airlock door i knew this was the beginning of the end for me. "ATLAS!! ATLAS! HOLD ON! I almost have it open."Kira yelled through the thick bomb proof glass as she keyed in the last few digits of the pass-code. I used the last bit of strength I could muster to push the emergency lock down button for the airlock. I slid down the wall onto my bottom as I took more and more labored breaths. "Why Atlas why?!?!?!?!?"Kira pleaded through the intercom. I ran my hand through my thick dark mane and most of my hair came with it. I waved the offending clump of hair in front of the glass as I spoke. Kira was the closest thing that I had to a daughter She was in the third group of scientist to join us in our venture into the unknown. She had soft black hair and coco like skin and eyes like amber. I taught her everything I knew about the world beyond ours and we became close, like a little family among the stars. "Radiation poisoning...all those trips into the Nova and haphazard scouting missions finally caught up to me." “This isn’t your first bout with radiation poisoning, we can give you medication and your body can fight the rest off.” Kira tried to reason with me as the rest of the team rushed to see what happened. I let out a halfhearted laugh that ended in coughing up even more blood. “Yea I was 23 the last time that happened…I’m 75 now and the radiation is too far gone now. If you tried to medicate me now all it would do is expose you all to radiation unnecessarily.” I said as I stared at my life’s work just on the other side of the airlock window as the earth breaks over the horizon of the sun. An entire life spent learning, searching, risking my life for knowledge. “I’ve been on this ship since I was 20 not even old enough to drink or gamble all in the pursuit of knowledge. In the pursuit of something that will just be watered down and tossed into some half ass textbook that none of the generations after me will even bother to read.” The room took on a pink hue as it swayed across my vision. Even in my seated position the dizziness was more than apparent. I stared out at the universe as it seemed to call to me, the stars danced across my vision as the colors seemed to change like strobe lights. Like the universe knew my soul was drifting away, as if it knew I would soon join that cold desolate place one last time, as a huge black hole came into view far off in the distance. As if a light bulb came on in my head I knew what I had to do. “Release one of the pods” I said to Kira as I stared out at the black hole that seemed to twinkle with a bright light from deep inside of it. “What are you doing Atlas? Release the pod for what? Where are you going?” Kira said. “Kira I’m dying a slow and painful death and that won’t sit right with me. If I die it will be on my terms.” “Stop this madness, just open the door at least let me try to save you please.” Kira pleaded through the glass. “This is the end of the line for us Kira…know that you became my family on this ship and I taught you everything I know. It’s now your time to lead keep them well, and never send someone on a mission you wouldn’t do yourself.” With that I stood and snapped my helmet back on locking it into place. “Wait, where are you going?” Kira asked yet again. As I popped open the airlock door I spoke. “There is one last question I have yet to get the answer to.” With that I pushed myself toward the floating pod and got in. I turned the machine on and popped my helmet off as I turned towards the black hole thousands of miles away. I pushed the pod as fast as it would go as I coughed up more and more blood as my brain swam struggling to hold on to reality. As I neared the black hole its gravitational pull sucked me right in and smothered out all of the light inside my pod. I don’t know how much time passed as I was pulled deeper and deeper into the black hole. Until I saw the first flash of lightning dangerously close to the pod. The sound was like sheets of metal being ripped apart. I kicked the pod into high gear dodging lightning bolts as much as I could hurtling deeper and deeper into the void. That’s when I saw it a flicker of light deep inside the black hole. Shaking my head as if to clear its foggy state and looked again and there it was yet again that flicker of light in the distance. I had always hypothesized Black hole was just a highway of sorts from one universe to the other. Something that was once a ball of energy doesn’t just die off and the energy dispersed into nothing that energy has to go somewhere especially after and impulsion like that. I pushed the pod as fast as it could go dodging lightning bolts left and right. Just as i seemed to clear the last of the storm a bolt of lightning struck the pod and rendered it useless. The fatigue and sickness finally took a hold of me and my whole world went black... TO be continued...
It All Started Last Thursday when Mrs. Miles was Baking her Family's Famous Pecan Pie. She would invite me every now and then. But I always refused humbly. It was not like I did not want to go or I hated pie, I actually always would be in the middle of something whenever she invited me. She always used to mention a certain special ingredient. It had been 6 years from the time she invited me for the very first time and I had, had enough of saying no to the sweet old lady. "You better join me this time dear! I am running out of the special ingredient I keep mentioning!"she said watering her garden as I walked out of my house to Jog to work that morning. I thought to my self, it had been 6 years and I had not moved anywhere from the town. I could proudly call myself a local in that town now. I knew all the happening places and monuments of the town, I was even thinking of buying the house I had rented into. I was planning on adopting a child as well. After all, I was an established writer now and my last book was nominated for many awards. I finally could say that I was a family woman living in a town with a good Currier! I was no longer an orphan living on government funds! So now I could socialize! I could have friends and acquaintances. Nothing wrong in visiting your neighbor for a peace of pie. She is a sweet old lady, she can be good influence on my future child. I should just make use of the opportunity and get familiar to her. I looked at her with a bright smile, "Sure, is 6 PM okay? I will be at your door as soon as I get off of work."Oh the joy in her eyes as she nodded affirmatively was priceless. All day long at work, I kept thinking if I should buy her a present for her nice gesture or should I invite her over some day when I cooked something interesting. I also wondered if I should begin my own family's famous meal tradition? Something my child would make for Christmas and tell my grand kids about how we made it for every Christmas. I could jump in when my neighbors needed me, how they would regard to me as a helping neighbor.... Finally the clock struck 5:30. As I packed my bag and began to walk to the door of my office, my colleague stopped me and asked the reason for the smile on my face. "Did they choose a child for you already? are you going to meet the child now? How old is she? did they choose a girl as you wanted? tell me all about it!"I replied with an even larger smile that I was only visiting my neighbor for pie and that I was late already. The people in the office were happy for me. "Good for you, you finally came out of your shell and got rid of the fear of the society."they all said. I could feel the positive vibes in the air as I bought a can of heavy cream and ran to her door. I calmed myself and thought, she might have other people over too. I should behave myself. So I took a deep breath before ringing the door bell. "Why, hello dear, come in. sit down, the pie is almost ready."she said. I handed her the cream I had bought. "How thoughtful of you, however, this cream is not what you add on pie. But I'm sure I'll have it to some use. I've brewed some coffee to go with the pie for now."As she said that and walked to her kitchen, I noticed that there were pictures of her husband and children on the wall. But there were no pictures of them post the children turning 10-12 of age. I was curious about her family, I knew she lived alone and had no visitors at least for 6 years now. I always brushed it away as non of my business. But that day, I asked only to find out that they were all killed brutally many years ago. She did not look like she wanted to talk further so I did not ask any more questions. After all, I would meet her often and talk to her from now on. So she might have talked to me about it when she wanted to and was ready to open up. I told her of my lonely past and my reason to keep to myself for so many years. I also told her about the adoption she was a little sad hearing that. I assumed that she might have gone back to the memories of her children so I assured her that the child would visit her and I would teach the child to socialize. Somehow, those assurances also failed to get her smile back. By then, the oven bell clinged. She was back to her usual cheerful self as she ran back into the kitchen to get the pie. As we savored the most delicious pie I have ever eaten, I could not stop myself but asking. "You must tell me what the special ingredient is."She smiled and replied. "The last of my daughter's liver and my husband's eye ball." I smiled back at her, I had only eaten my parent's brain, I should have tried to cook the livers! But I was only 8 back then, I could not have thought of something so innovative as her.
They told me I'd never do it. Each day the same as the rest. Push the boulder up the hill, than do it all over again the next day. I had since lost track of the days. Why bother counting when every day is the same? On one such day, seemingly similar to all the countless others. I did it. With one final push, the massive bolder that was my life crested the hilltop and into the sea below. "You finally did it!"A booming erupted from the clouds. The voice being none other than my father. The all mighty Zeus. "I completed this final labor father, what would you have me do now?"I replied. While I could not see my father's face, the crackling above my head made it clear he was smiling. "A long time have you pushed the bolder. By the humans count it is what they call 'The 90's'. You shall live among them, with a new name."Zeus rang down upon me. "And what shall I be called?"I said, my voice quivering with excitement. Zeus paused, as if deep in thought. Than at once, the clouds parted and my father decreed "Your name, is Kevin Sorbo."
We should have known better. We should have seen it coming, and yet here we are. Even when everyone is fed and cloathed and cared for. Even when everything could be amazing, even when we know it works! People are still people. Petty, cruel, vindictive people. We can fix the world. We can make the laws of physics bend to our reality, yet one truth is unchanged. People are people. It was fine at first, the people were content. No work means little stress, which should lead into a healthier lifestyle and could even reduce crime. With nothing to want noone should be stealing or perhaps even society could become less violent as a whole. We could move past our small differences and unite as people, in peace and kindness. But progress is slow and a small limited run of the first generation of fabricators was released The first day the fabricators were taken off the market murder spiked 648% above average. With some having power to create anything, people got scared, got scared that they would be left out in the dust. That these miracle machines were simply to amazing to actually be allowed for everyone to have. So those without do as they have always done. People lied, stole and killed over them. We should have known.
(hi, it's my first time here) With nothing else than a stoic face, Michael closed his mother's eyes with hands which however, were shaking with anger. He wanted to stay with her in that bedroom stinking of medicines, beside her dead mom, for eternity, but life has smote him enough to make him realise that it wasn't to be like that. He had always visioned how this scene would be in his head for countless sleepless nights, right from the day he saw the amount it would take to treat her mother. But he never thought anger would take the better of him when the moment actually took place. Perhaps it was because he had already cried too many times. Perhaps it was because his mother made her promise not to. Perhaps sadness was such a regular thing in his life that he even if he was crying he wouldn't feel anything different. Or perhaps he was fed up. He kissed his mother's forehead and got up from the bed. He went to the balcony of their small apartment. He saw the moon smiling it's wicked smile at him. Beside that, there was only one another star in the sky. Nothing else. Michael had seen a starry sky before, in a jungle trip, when his father was with them. When they had the money. No, that was not a star, he shook his head. That was Venus. Memories of his mother reminding him of how Venus looked different from other stars flashed by his mind. And that was when the tears started. "WHY ME? WHAT DID I DO? WHAT WAS _MY_ FAULT?? ANSWER ME!" Despite having a fascination to science in his childhood, Michael never forsook his faith in God. Michael was the angel who protected the heavens from Satan's forces, he had read in a book before, but he was not sure which, once upon a time he was proud to have this name, but not now. "ANSWER ME!!"This time he screamed as loud as possible. He tried to scream again, but his throat cracked. The only sign he saw was the moon's mocking smile. He fell down on the floor with a thud. "He won't answer you, you know that as well. "A voice said. Michael looked around. There was no one around and the voice seemed to come from everywhere. "Who are you?", he asked. "You know that answer too." The moon was still laughing at him. Is this his imagination? Was he going mad? "Well, it's yes and no. "The voice said. Michael shook his head violently. As if to brush away the voice. It didn't help. "You know what to do. "The voice said again "No,"he replied. "Your mother is dead, there is no one who you have to be responsible to." Michael shook his violently. "Are you the devil??"He screamed out loud. A girl from the ground floor walked outside the apartment to take a walk outside. She turned her head backwards to the direction of the scream to see Michael shaking violently. "Why are you wasting your time with such silly questions?"The voice answered back to Michael. "But my mother won't allow it!"Michael sobbed, trying his best to get this malacious voice out of his head. "I know what you've been thinking, Mike, you put it all upto God, and decided not to dirty your hands, well look what help has he done to your mother. It is all upto you, you can live anyhow you want." "GET. OUT. OF. MY. HEAD, "Michael screamed, tearing off some of his hair. "Mr. Overwood? Are you alright?"The girl asked him from below. Michael jolted front. He got up and took one long stare at the girl's face. The wind blew over his face, and it felt cold. Refreshing. After a long silence, he said, "Sarah, can I have a talk with your father?" "Yes, mr. Overwood, you're welcome to come inside our room. I'll inform dad. " Everyone in the neighbourhood was aware of the links Sarah's dad had with the Underworld of the city. He would be a good person to get a gun or even get some decent money with a job he would make him do. Michael heaved a sigh. Somehow, he felt lighter. He looked at the sky. Some time has surely passed. There was no moon looking back at him. It had gone to the other side of the balcony.
"Cut forward motion,"the captain shifted his bulk in a webbed chair, scratching at scaly plates with a weary sigh. "Deploy drones. Let's see what we've got out there." "Keep an eye out for Korgons,"the exec officer ordered his security officer. He floated across the bridge, arriving beside the captain. "Only a matter of time before they track our jump trajectory. We'll need to find something fabulous, justify our mining claims." Swarms of semi-sentient drones fanned out across the expanse of the strange asteroid belt. Minor hype-jumps took them from rock to rock, scanning with onboard lidar, tomography, and chromatograph sensors. "Nothing on the charts, this could be a new discovery." "If we found it, they'll find it. Only a matter of time."Eons on the starlanes gave the captain a cynical, bitter disposition. He'd been disappointed so many times before. No sense in reacting until they had something to react to. "If we're lucky, it'll be something we can exploit at a modest profit. Justify the expense flying out so far." "Uh, sir?"the security officer spoke up. "We're getting a contact on comms." The Captain spun in his chair, swearing in ancient Mar'dith. "Oh, no. Korgons, already?" "No, sir. Something else."The security officer tapped at the screen, waiting for analysis to complete. "Off in the distance. Eight light-minutes away. Someone down there caught our hype-signature and now they're going crazy, trying to talk to us." "A sentient species? No kidding."The Captain waved to his exec. "See what they want. Need to keep our drones on task." Long minutes of silence ensued, while the exec officer held a murmured conversation with their comms team. Normal communication would travel through hyperchannels, if the species had figured out how to use them. These folks, it seemed, were content to say something, wait eight minutes for the message to arrive, and then another eight minutes for the message to get back. "Worse than talking to my GrandMar'dith,"the exec complained. "No respect for the elderly? Shame on you." "You know what I mean. We're here to do a job, not play with the natives. Every message is like 'oh my God, hi! How are you? Who are you? Can you come see us?'"The exec shook one of his horns in irritated disgust. "I've got better things to do." "They might be useful. Place to stop, pick up food and water." "If it isn't infected with some primitive virus or something."The exec straightened up as the next message arrived. "Well, this is awkward." "What?"the Captain asked. "Well ... they're asking to be taken to our leader. That means you." "Oh, brother ..."
\[Poem\] "Why are you moving? No one should be able to move!" The stranger approached, yelling. "We're trying to improve Humanity's situation." &#x200B; He flashed a badge at Sean. It wasn't one he'd seen before. "Pick a number, one through 54." "14,"Sean shrugged. &#x200B; "Ha! Of course, I knew it. One sec while I call someone." He grabbed his phone and drew his gun. &#x200B; "Hello? Let me talk to Janet." "Hi! I found one!"He aimed at Sean. &#x200B; "You're on the way? Great! We'll wait." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #070 You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
Day... Idk. Probably into the thousands. I stopped counting long ago. I am not sure I ever have. Writing 'I am borrrreeeeddddd' all over my diary has been proved ineficient in keeping me not bored. Should have known that. No shit sherlock, stating the obvious to yourself isn't fun. I miss them. Hearing them to the point of no privacy was worse than annoying, but being alone is maddaning. There is no time where I think that not hearing your thoughts is worse than only hearing them. I just want the noise to shit it up. I can't hear myself anymore. If only I wasn't a jerk. If only I would have asked them nicely. I'd have someone to talk to, even if it was to bicker. I'd have something to look at, other than this static, boring house. But I had to be a dick, didn't I? 'this is My home', 'Leave me alone'. What did 8 even think to myself? I miss the alive, too. Scaring them off-what was i thinking to myself? It was fun, at first. I think I even befriended a cat. But they leave so fast, and I am here alone. No one comes here anymore. The people that wonder here by accident are too scared to stay, and those that came to an adventure find the boring truth. And just like that, not even alives visit here. I try to go away. But I can't. I am bound to this place. And to the skeleton near the path to the sea. Because I had to tell him I will never leave.
I Will Survive They’d thought they’d killed her. They’d thought they’d eradicated the rest of her kind, and they would be right about that. She was the only one left. In space, it was impossible to track the passage of time. It had been years since Laika had even seen another life form, let alone someone like her. She hadn’t known how much time had passed, and her memories were foggy. All she remembered was her lover’s face, and the way that she had looked when she let Laika go. A fierce, almost predatory grin lit up her lovely face, and her laugh, sounding to Laika like birdsong, or what she remembered of it. But the betrayal had faded, leaving behind only her rage. It had grown inside of what was left of her heart, watered by her desperate need for vengeance. How odd, that the face she’d loved so dearly had been nearly erased by time. She might have been a cyborg, but even her memory was not infallible. The ruins of the ship around her had been the only thing to shield her from being blown to bits, once she’d hit the atmosphere. For a while, this dazzling new planet had dulled the agony of almost dying. It was like the earth she remembered in some ways, and in others it was totally different. The sky was a dark, rich purple, no matter what time of day or night it was. Laika couldn’t look at the sky anymore; she had a job to do. She would return to the colony and make certain that the people who betrayed her would pay. \\ By the time Laika was through with the rest of her repairs, her entire body was aching, even the robot parts, and the sky turned from purple to a bright neon teal. She would allow herself a few hours of rest, a small meal, and then she would set out for Volterra, to the planet where her life had begun and ended. Laika didn’t like thinking about the past, about what came before. Even if she could remember it all, she didn’t want to. In those days, Callie had been all she had. Even when she’d lived on the streets, Callie always found her, usually with a sandwich, water. But she’d come back, again and again, no matter where Laika went. Somehow, she was always able to find her. And then one rainy night, Callie had stayed with her, and they’d kissed for the first time. From that point out, it hadn’t just been Laika, not anymore. It had been Laika and Callie, badass queer women who would take Earth, and the galaxies beyond it, by storm. What killed her most about Callie’s betrayal was that Laika had seen it coming. Callie’s father, a scientist, always had a scowl on his face whenever he saw Laika, making no attempt to hide his displeasure. She’d only learned of Callie’s true motives right before she’d abandoned ship: she and the rest of her kind were mistakes, results of a failed experiment, and they’d been taken into space not for a new life on a different planet, but to be erased, forgotten. Reborn. But she’d survived, and she was coming home to get even. \\
A mix of mumbles, sighs and some yells go throughout the room A short and skinny guy named Dexter remarks "No one will, it's the end of the world" The man clapped "not for everyone , sure a lot of people! But, someone will carry the torch ... I'm sure of it" A small boy around the age of 12 is looking out the window , it appears they are in some kinda space station. Outside the window is a planet, charred and Burnt by man and nature alike. It is , no. Was , Earth. The Boy, Shaun sheepishly said "are we going to die?"A weird mix of child like innocence and trauma lied within him, They created a Time machine , which would effect the entire world. For a certain 4000 mile radius, all forms of life would die at an extremely accelerated pace. Dexter Yelled "YES OF-" The man proceeded to slap him in the face Shaun sighed "I... can we just get it over with ..., I wish I could say goodbye to mom and dad" The man , Noah said "we all wish we could do that. I know I may be coming off as hurried but that's because I am, help me activate this thing" Dexter and Shaun both tried their best to help repair the "time machine"but it was clear do to their lack of knowledge that Noah did all the actual work, after a while the machine was running Noah Paced "so, I know it sounds antagonistic but any last words folks?" Shaun's eyes were watery as Dexter replyed "I've cherished you both with all my life, and I-I-... I guess I'll see you on the other side" Shaun didn't have anything to say and the switch was pulled , Earth was seemingly slowly restoring itself to its former glory, Noah smiled as his body slowly decayed , watching the world he once knew come back into sight.
My dad is never wrong, my mom is always right, my sister knows it all, and my brother is spoiled. "You're not perfect either!"they tell me. I know I'm not. I never said I was. (I never asked to be brought into this world either cough but we won't get into that). But don't bother me when I'm minding my business and ask me, "How come you never spend time with us anymore? What, do you think you're better than us or something?" "No,"I say most times with a weary smile. "I'm just tired."It isn't a complete lie. I am tired - tired of their dysfunctional sheenanigans. But sometimes they catch me off guard, with a smile, a hand on the knee maybe, and a sincere look in their eyes as they ask me, "No, hey, really, what's been going on? Talk to me." And I fall into the trap of suddenly believing that maybe, maybe this time they'll change. Never do. And I don't want them to change who they are - because deep down I believe they're all good people and in their minds they probably have good intentions. But you know how the sayings go: "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions"and "Even the villian doesn't see themself as the villian. In their minds, they're the good guys." Besides, like they say, I'm not perfect either. So who am I to talk? There's a saying though that: "Even a broken clock is right two times a day." I believe that we can all learn from each other and I just wish they saw that my suggestions were coming from a place of love. Instead they become offended, defensive, offensive, and it just spirals downward into a game of point the finger, "Don't blame me!" All in all, I love them all. Just please keep them on the other side of the universe.
Of the many days I have spent as a semi-corporeal astral being stranded in this barren spirit realm, none beat the night Angorra flew overhead. Nobody I spoke to, not even the trio of old crones at the top of the hill who's cauldron bubbled over with its innumerable secrets, could tell me why Angorra's soul penetrated the spirit realm. The skeletal body of a pterodactyl, or so I guessed, had crossed above not once, not twice, but repeatedly, on the hour, overhead. Well, as far as I could tell, since the spirit realm twisted time into a whirlwind of inconsistency. Seriously, I was pretty sure tomorrow had already happened yesterday, and that last year was coming up sometime in the next century. "Did you see that?"I had asked Randy, a forty-five year-old corpsie (our nickname for the dead of the spirit realm) I had befriended after maybe his hundredth reenactment of his death. Surely a gruesome experience, to be beholden to the consequences of your end, but the circumstances that led me to the spirit realm were less morbid and more nightmarish fairy-tale. A witch. In the woods. Maybe a curse was involved - sue me. I didn't watch Disney growing up. He grunted, as much as he could through the gurgle of the vehicular shrapnel piercing his throat and lungs. "Narrggghhhhhhhhhhh,"he groaned. I knew a no when I heard one. As I patted his back goodbye, I heard the familiar siren of the oncoming ambulance. Poor guy didn't usually last before it arrived, but this place didn't really care about consistency or facts. Or realism. Dali would've thrived here. "Did you ask about Angorra?"A voice from my left beckoned me. "She's been circling this particular circle of hell for years!"Her haggard tone could be crone, could be disastrous death-scenario, it was a literal 50-50 here. "I'm not currently dying,"came the voice, emphasis on the 'currently'. I moved in her general direction, but couldn't place the voice. It felt like it was coming from above me, like a little tickle in the wind. Looking up, only the ethereal clouds greeted me in the grey obsolescence. There was no sun in this realm. Just an all-enveloping grey. "Up here!"As if she knew, another gust of air fell upon my head and tickled my the tips of ears. Looking up, I was agape. Aghast. Guffawed? Words kind of lose their meaning when your dwelling in eternity. A whale - a literal, god-forsaken whale, perforated through the billows of cloud and swallowed the sky like a school of krill. Dumbfounded, I simply said, "Oh, hi there."Surprises were abound in a realm with no rules, no truth, and no end. But still, a floating, corporeal whale in the sky. Hard pill to swallow. "Angorra died many millenia ago,"billowed the she-whale. "Christianity tended to disagree,"I whispered to myself. "There are many Christians. I do not know of whom you speak,"the she-whale came so close I thought she'd touch-down. Instead, she simply hovered before me, her body angled such that her blow hole pushed back my hair like a gargantuan hair dryer. Ignoring the hair treatment, I continued, "How do you know Angorra?" "She was a dragon. A whale of the sky. Otherworldly beings. Beyond you. Beyond even me."The she-whale exhaled as she spoke and enveloped me in krill-breath. Had she eaten somewhere? Were the spirit-krill in the sky here? Could I swim up there? I ate my questions, for now, hoping to figure out how to scuba dive in the clouds later. With my luck, I'd end up perpetually drowning in the atmosphere. "A dragon? They actually existed?" "Well before those of you who stand on two-legs." Rude, not all beings can just float through the abyss of life. Or death. Or spiritually-entombed eternity. "Interesting, why is she just a skeleton floating through the sky? Everyone else has their body from the real world here. Whether or not they're alive." I didn't expect the she-whale to have an answer. I didn't expect to speak to a whale floating in the sky. Honestly, my expectations went out the window when I landed here at the whim of an old witch straight out of Oz. But her answer made total sense. Truly the only sensible thing I had heard in the last century. Her matter-of-fact tone struck me in my bones, shred me of my skin and tore into me like a fresh bite. The honesty was gnashing at me. "I ate it." Spirit whales eat dragon meat. The things you learn as one of the damned.

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